


Lips Like Sugar (and Cigarettes)

by renjunsfairydust



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1980s, A little angst, Alcohol, Coming of Age, Drunken Kissing, Falling In Love, Hopes and Dreams, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Mechanic Jeno, Piercings, Pining, Post Punk Scene, Slightly slow burn, Smoking, Tattoos, tattoo artist renjun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renjunsfairydust/pseuds/renjunsfairydust
Summary: Jeno looks for a tattoo. He finds Renjun, some cigarettes, and a handful of splintered dreams.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 48
Kudos: 152





	1. Hopes

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally my 00FF fic! Although I am late I would like to thank my prompter for the wonderful prompt that inspired this fic which I will list in the end notes!
> 
> As promised, this fic is heavily inspired by the song 'Strawberries and Cigarettes' by Troye Sivan. But I've also made a playlist of other mood music here [playlist 🎶 ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/50k6MCs0jwZDTptT3oqJnV?si=G0RbmejRQG6e7t-UILmXqQ)  
> 
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters are in no way intended to be true reflections of the real life people. This fic contains depictions of smoking and alcohol so if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read!

Jeno had never been into a tattoo parlour before. 

A bridge spanning the river had brought him here, to where the air smelled of diesel and dust. He dodged the murky puddles of rainwater beside the road from the storm last night, passing damp concrete walls riddled with patches of ugly graffiti. The street was for those who knew how to find it, tucked away, distant from the clammer of the rat race and the harsh toils of city life. It wasn’t for the sightseers, they wouldn’t find much, except the backroad lined with rundown record stores and guitar shops. It was not like the glitz or the superficial glint and glow of the west end. The place was real, not waxen and false, the perfect amount of rawness and stained pavements. 

London was not new to Jeno. He knew it like the back of his hand, could point out every landmark on the map he kept in his jacket pocket. It had once been pinned to his wall, and he’d circled all of his desired destinations with thick red pen in his younger years. When he was eighteen, he had ripped it off to tour the streets with in his halcyon days. Those were the years he’d spent following mediocre school grades and resulting despondency, when he’d insisted to his parents he would find himself, that the city would find him too. He had seen all of it, and afterwards the map had resided permanently in his pocket, a tribute to time spent discovering, a keepsake. 

Eighty five had not been the best year of Jeno’s life, and the summer season had arrived already. It was midway through the decade, and everyone thought the world was changing. Even the newspapers spewed talk of an era filled with ambition. Somewhere, Jeno anticipated it too, somewhere he was waiting for nineteen eighty five. It had not been the worst year, it was a lot better than eighty four, and eighty three, because he had been lost then. He had found something in eighty five, a job, as a mechanic, slogging every day in a sweaty garage on a rundown city road. What a time it was to be alive. 

This street, in this far-flung part of London, was the place the hopers came. Jeno remembered the first time he had seen it and smelled the same chemicals from the diesel and the dry air. He had believed for a long time that he fitted in with it, but had come to wonder after years, whether his own dreams extended much further than the edge of town. His dreams were made up of tiny pieces, not bigger than the city, but exactly enough for him. 

Inside the tattoo parlour, music played loudly from a huge, neon juke box, like a calling from a brand new world. The new world was cold and cramped, with rough walls and stark spotlights. Only one window looked out from the shop, facing dirty concrete and high brick. Jeno closed the door behind him, shutting out the fading afternoon sun. 

Tattoos were enticing to him. Worlds of colliding ink painted on skin. A mirror opposite him reflected the designs plastered on the walls and ceiling: snakes winding across a wrist, an ace of spades bled into a shoulder blade. Some were bold ink drawings and others faded photographs. Jeno inspected another print, a tiger with eyes that shimmered gold. 

“They’re all of our works.” 

The man’s voice startled Jeno. He was grinning, hands shoved under running water that became droplets as he flicked his fingers and sent them flying. Pointing at the tiger with the huge fangs, he continued. “Did that one myself, a couple of weeks back.” 

Jeno stared at the glowing eyes, catching his own appearance in the mirror alongside the man’s. They were both dressed in faded denim and low cut shirts, Jeno’s hair burgundy and the man’s streaked blond. But where Jeno had an expanse of unmarked skin, the man’s collarbones were decorated in dark tattoos, his face creased with age, and his spiky hair styled up with gel. 

“Any idea what you’re looking for?” 

“Not really.” 

“Nothing at all?” 

The guys in the garage had tattoos, rough letters across their knuckles, or caricatures of rock singers, classic cars and skulls. They spoke of them as their pride, and when Jeno had asked them why, they had only laughed at him. He did not want tattoos like they had, they were fine for them, but not what he wanted. “Not a clue”, he answered. 

“Most people come in with at least a vague idea.” The man shrugged, “anyway, have a look at the designs, there’s books more of ‘em you can flick through after that.” 

Jeno thanked him with a small smile, scanning the patterns beneath the tiger. A photograph of a forearm with vibrant butterflies spilling over it stood out, bright blue wings inked in fragile lines. 

The music from the juke box stopped abruptly. Buzzing machinery and grinding metal resonated, then a door clicked open. It made Jeno turn his head. 

There were three other people in the room now. Spiky Hair was talking to a woman in a velvet chair; _one, two._

_Three_. He emerged from the back room. Jeno might have described his face as delicate, beautiful, if he dared to. 

The boy walked to the juke box. His jeans were slashed at the knees, and the spotlights caught the faint smoky tint around his eyes, lips shiny and pink. He pressed a button and a black vinyl disk flipped onto the turntable in the centre of the neon tubes. 

When the music started up again, Jeno recognised it but was distracted by the butterflies from the tattoo on the wall which felt as though they were entering his throat and fluttering to his stomach. They settled and made themselves at home. 

Spiky Hair said something Jeno did not hear over the music, to which _Smoky Eyes_ nodded, patting the juke box a final time and disappearing into the back room. 

Jeno pretended to scrutinise the designs on the wall, but the boy appeared again, holding a tatty red folder upright against his chest. He came closer, hair a little overgrown with dark roots showing through the chestnut brown. He wasn’t covered in tattoos, but his left ear had two piercings, tiny silver studs and in his right were three small hoops just visible along the top of his ear, and a not-so-discreet stick of strawberry chapstick poked out of his shirt pocket. 

Smoky Eyes slammed the folder in front of Jeno and opened it to the first page, revealing a drawing of an ornate ink dagger. “You’re not a regular, I’ve not seen you in here”, he said, voice smooth like sticky honey. 

Jeno glanced up sharply. “I’ve not been here”, he answered, watching the boy inspect the skin on show around his neck and collarbones, as if searching for signs of ink. 

“ID.” The boy held out his hand expectantly, and Jeno dug in his pocket for it, handing it to him. “This your first time?” 

“Yep. First time.” 

“Nice”, the boy said, passing back the ID card, “a fresh canvas.” 

“I guess so.” 

“To be inked up by someone here.” The boy paused and grinned. “Know what you want?” 

“This one’s alright.” Jeno pointed to a drawing of scattered leaves, cascading from a winding branch. 

“Only alright?”, the boy asked. Jeno could smell his cologne, something near to citrus, but mixed with a spicier scent, like cloves. He pulled the book closer, peering at the leaves and clicking his tongue. “It wouldn’t suit you. You need something bolder, something with a lot of ink.” The boy nodded to the pages open on the counter. “I don’t like any of that crap.” 

“Oi!, Renjun!”, Spiky Hair growled, turning to Jeno. “He does a few drawings and he thinks he’s bloody _Monet_ and knows everything about tattoos. Ignore him.” 

The boy shrugged and smiled, a piercing on his tragus now visible and catching the studio lamp light. _“Ignore me.”_

_Renjun._ That was his name. 

“You draw tattoos?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Can I see the ones you’ve done?” 

“I don’t _do_ tattoos.” 

Jeno frowned. “You don’t?” 

“Not yet. I’m just training as an apprentice. They won’t let me handle any of the big stuff, they don’t trust me with real people yet. I lug boxes in the store room and operate the cash register.” He smiled cheekily. “Sometimes, I even get to change the music too.” 

Jeno tapped his nails against the glass counter. “How long do they take?” 

“Depends on the size.” Renjun pointed to the leaves. “One like this probably takes about three hours.” 

“You got any yourself?” 

“That’s a lot of questions.” The boy laughed and leant forward. “Of course I do.” He swiped the folder with the red cover off the desk. “We’re closing soon, you’ll have to make an appointment if you want one.” 

“I don’t know what I want.” 

“Still?” 

“I thought I’d see something I liked.” 

“And have you?” 

Jeno shook his head. “I’ll come back another time.” 

Renjun walked behind the main desk, scribbling an appointment in a large notebook. One week away. 

As Jeno stepped out of the parlour into the evening, his heart was still racing. 

He stopped and sat on a low wall he’d seen from the shop window. The red bricks were crumbling and as he dug his heels into the ground, specks of dust clouded around his feet. Pulling a box from his back pocket, he drew out a cigarette and held it between his teeth as he flicked his lighter twice. He counted the cars passing in an attempt to distract himself, drawing from the cigarette and exhaling smoke, his heart rate slowing gradually. 

He fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. _His leather jacket_. The jacket he wore every day, except the days when the sun was too hot. The soft leather was already worn in and he treasured it, even though it was junk once, second hand from a street market in North London. It had cost Jeno four weeks’ wages from the shop he’d worked in at the time: hired to sell tat to tourists, postcards of the city and magnets for fridges. 

“Light me one.” 

Jeno turned sharply, ash falling and burning his fingers. He flicked his hand at the sudden sting and felt his heart race again. 

Renjun was sitting beside him on the wall. He too was wearing a leather jacket that he tugged over his shoulders. “My shift just ended. I saw you on the wall on my way out”, he batted his eyelashes. “Light me one?”, he repeated. _“Jeno.”_

“My name—" 

“It was on your ID”, the boy replied. “And I’m Renjun.” 

Jeno flipped the packet and pulled out another cigarette. The boy watched him carefully the whole time. Removing his lit cigarette from his lips, he replaced it with the unlit one and carefully touched the end with his to light it. 

“It’s a bad habit, you know”, Jeno said, handing it to the boy next to him and noticing a hint of ink staining the top of his wrist, fleeting flecks of reddish colour. Jeno wondered how many the boy was hiding on his body, cheeks reddening at the forbidden thought. 

“I know.” Renjun brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling and blowing out stretches of smoke towards the road. 

Then silence. A bus went by, wheels rushing through a puddle and narrowly missing them both with its splash. More silence. Smoke. Jeno considered asking Renjun more questions about his tattoos, but Renjun didn’t seem to want to talk about those. 

“Ramones”, Jeno said, eventually breaking the smoke-filled silence. 

“Huh?” 

“You played the Ramones on the juke box earlier.” 

Renjun stopped smoking. “Yeah, I did”, he smiled. “You like them?” 

“Yeah, I like that kind of thing. ” 

“Me too.” Renjun flicked the end of the cigarette with his finger. 

They fell back into silence as smoke clouded the air again. Jeno watched Renjun’s face underneath the glow of the streetlight, wondering how his lips could be so impossibly glossy. 

“Do you live nearby?”, Renjun asked. 

Jeno pointed in the distance. “The other side of the river”, he said. “I prefer it this side of the bridge, I think it’s beautiful here.” 

Renjun scoffed. “Beautiful? This place? It’s a shithole.” 

Jeno laughed, choking on cigarette smoke and exhaling it all at once. “It feels real here”, he coughed. 

“It’s certainly that”, Renjun replied. His cigarette was almost down to the filter. “Real decadence, real fading elegance. _A real shitty place_.” 

“You sound a lot like a poet there”, Jeno laughed as Renjun grinned and stubbed his cigarette end to kill the flame. 

“Nice piercing by the way.” Renjun glanced at Jeno’s mouth. “You had that for long?” 

Renjun must have seen it while he was speaking. Jeno stuck out his tongue, smooth metal exposed to the air, gliding over his lip and back into his mouth. Someone in a club, in the inner city, had one just like it, and he’d wanted one too. The metal had stayed with him since. 

“A few years”, he replied. The stud on his tongue touched the roof of his mouth. “Felt weird at first but I’m used to it now, I forget it’s there most of the time.” 

Renjun did not ask more, their conversation only lasting as long as it took them both to smoke a cigarette, because after that the boy got up, turning to Jeno. 

“I’ll dig out some different designs from the back for you next time.” 

As Jeno crossed the road towards the bridge, he caught himself peering over his shoulder, at the back of a tattered leather jacket, and a head of messy brown hair. 

\--

The roads near Jeno’s estate were quiet, in a part of the town that was simply alright, nicer than places around it. A calm piece of suburbia among the chaos. He lived with his parents in a comfortable house painted white with a gated front. Houses in the city were expensive, so he gave them rent money for a room in the attic, until he could afford a place of his own. He’d converted it three summers ago, blasted away all the dust and cobwebs and laid the floorboards himself. 

Most of the time, they kept themselves to themselves, Jeno, his mother and his father. 

Except at dinner times. 

Jeno slung his jacket on the banister. His mother was watering a sprawling houseplant on the window ledge in the hallway. 

“Jeno. _Finally_ ”, she hissed, and he followed her to the kitchen. Shoving two plates into his hands, she tapped him on the shoulder, directing him to the dining room. 

Jeno carried the dishes of food, laying them out by a setting at the table where his father was already seated reading a newspaper. His mother followed with her own plate and gestured for him to sit as she took her place. 

“How was your day?”, she asked, spreading butter on a slice of bread. 

Jeno shrugged but smiled at her. “It was alright”, he said, “I fixed some cars, the same as usual.” 

His mother nodded, and they carried on eating in silence. 

They had come to London because of his father. The electronics company moved here from Seoul, and they moved with it when Jeno was fourteen. Now, his life consisted of rusty metal, engine oil and rainy days, but it was fine. 

“When are you going to get a decent job?”, his father spoke sternly. 

“My job _is_ decent”, Jeno replied. 

“Leave the boy alone”, his mother interjected. “He’s working hard, isn’t he? That’s more than can be said for most of his generation.” 

Ignoring the remark, his father sighed and dropped his fork onto his plate. It clattered loudly. He wanted Jeno to be like him. He’d tried it before, suggesting that Jeno should move out, get his own place, and find a ‘nice girl’. Jeno had wanted to say that he was getting there, and that he didn’t want a nice girl, but he was usually shut down by his father, the conversations ending in remarks like, _“For God’s sake Jeno, you’re twenty. Do something with your life.”_

Jeno rested his spoon on the side of his plate. He knew it would annoy his father, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to his rhetoric. “I want a tattoo.” 

Now it was the turn of his mother’s cutlery to clash noisily against her plate. Her lips were parted wide, and she had stopped eating. “A tattoo?” 

“I went to get one today, but I couldn’t decide what I wanted.” 

More silence. His mother coughed, and his father stared at the wall. 

“You’ve already got that _thing_ in your mouth Jeno, isn’t it enough?”, his father seethed, and then looked him in the face, “You’ll never get a job in an office if you get a tattoo.” 

“I don’t want a job in an office”, Jeno bit back. “People do what they want these days. Freedom of expression. And I—” 

“I’ll take these plates out and get the dessert”, his mother cut in, sharply swiping her own half-finished plate of food along with Jeno’s and his father’s. As she carried them through to the kitchen, Jeno glared at the table cloth. 

After dinner, his father went to bed, and his mother left the room to watch television. She never missed the nine o’clock news. Jeno joined her, sitting on the couch and tucking his hands underneath his chin. She smiled at him, and for the next ten minutes they sat glazed-eyed, watching the headlines flash up. Jeno could tell neither of them were paying a great amount of attention to the screen. 

“I made a friend today”, Jeno said quietly, adding “sort of.” 

“When you went for the tattoo?”, she asked. 

“Yeah. He works there.” 

“Does he have tattoos?” 

“Yeah, he does. I think.” 

“I despair, Lee Jeno”, she sighed. Reaching forward, she ran her fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes. “You know your father doesn’t like talking about that sort of thing.” 

“I know.” 

His mother smiled fondly, untangling her fingers from his hair. “I love you”, she whispered and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. 

Jeno went to his room after the news ended. He didn’t bother pulling up the ladder, it stayed connecting the attic to the landing below. He moved past the poster covered walls, and the shelves of dusty records, picking one up on the way. A floorboard creaked as he walked to his desk and placed it on his turntable. It spun, the needle connecting with the grooves and crackling. 

He dropped onto his bed with his hands behind his head and stared at the night sky through the window. It was a long way up to stars and by comparison his life felt insignificant. Most of the time his music took him away from his thoughts, but today he let himself indulge, mind filled with dreamy thoughts of cars, and boys, long drives, juke boxes and shiny strawberry lips. 

\--

A week later, the boy was sitting behind the counter in the tattoo parlour. His t-shirt was tucked into his jeans and scrunched at his waist. Three red folders were stacked on top of each other beside him which Jeno peered over from across the room. Settled in Renjun’s lap was a sketchpad bound by wire, over which he was drawing thin lines, head down and pencil balanced precisely between his finger and thumb. 

Jeno could not see what he was drawing, so he took in the details of Renjun’s face instead; his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated, a stray piece of hair at his temple swaying with his pencil strokes, and the three silver rings that curved around the top of his right ear. 

Spiky Hair, who had been stood near Jeno since he entered the shop, started to talk at him about tattoos, and ink, and waiting times. Jeno nodded along, sneaking glances at the counter. The noise from their conversation must have disturbed Renjun because the sketchbook was snapped shut and flung down on the desk along with the blunt pencil. His eyes met Jeno’s briefly, but he was distracted by the sound of his name called out from the back of the parlour. 

Snatching the sketchpad, Renjun tossed it into a drawer which he then slammed shut. He disappeared into the backroom and each minute that he did not return, Jeno felt his chest deflate. 

Reminding himself that Renjun owed him nothing, _except perhaps a cigarette_ , he left without inspiration. 

\--

Jeno visited the tattoo parlour again two weeks later. 

He spent that lunch break in the stifling air of the city heat outside of the garage, walking the hot pavement and occasionally rubbing at a spot of grease that still clung to his knuckle. It felt like summer for once, too hot for a _hot_ leather jacket. He carried it over his arm instead, Ray Bans propped on the bridge of his nose. In his mind he searched for inspiration, recollections of the books full of designs, hoping that one might stand out, but he found his thoughts invaded still by shiny lips and silver earrings. 

_He_ was sat on a chair at the counter, his hair swept back so the piercings in his ear were on display. Stepping into the dimness of the parlour, Jeno lowered his sunglasses from his face, hearing the buzzing of tattoo guns and soft click of machinery that bounced off every wall. 

The sketchpad was not on the desk, or in the apprentice’s hands. This time, Renjun clasped a different sort of book, the lengthy literature kind, with hundreds of pages bound by a creased spine, open in the palm of his hand. Jeno tilted his head to get a closer look at the cover. 

“It’s one of Wilde’s plays”, Renjun spoke suddenly, raising his head, “Lady Windermere’s Fan”, he said and held the book upright. “All that stuff about the avant garde sensibilities of the aristocracy.” 

Jeno stared at him blankly, holding back a grin. “I’m not all that familiar with it.” 

Humming quietly, Renjun inspected the cover, then looked at Jeno, reciting the words inside it. _“We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”_ He closed the book. “I think it fits this place.” After another short chuckle, and a fumbling of pages, he focused on Jeno. “Back again?” 

“Still can’t decide”, Jeno sighed. 

“It’s good to see you.” Renjun placed the book on the counter finally. “It’s got to be right. It’s okay, I get it.” He jumped out of his chair and stretched his arms. “Alright”, he started, coming out from behind the counter. “I was going to try this last time you came, but we had a fresh ink order that I had to unpack. Follow me.” 

Jeno did not move. “Why?” 

“What?” Renjun laughed, nodding to the door at the back and starting to walk towards it. “It’s only the store room.” 

Jeno glanced at the strings of beads covering the doorway, Renjun pushing through them and disappearing into the darkness. Relenting, he draped his jacket over one of the velvet chairs and followed, the beads catching in his hair as he tried to swivel past them. 

The store room was small and dim with a table in the centre taking up most of the space. There were no windows, just filing cabinets and a desk with a rickety lamp shining over an untidy line of papers and pencils. Renjun’s name was scribbled into the wood, carved in tiny letters. Above that, an old cork pinboard, and a line of string that ran from one side of the desk to the other, was cluttered with paperclips. The postcards clipped to the string were faded, nestled beside old polaroids of landscapes, and tall buildings, canyons and waterfalls. 

“Sit here.” 

Jeno snapped his gaze away from the desk, watching as Renjun pulled a plastic chair out from the table. “What are you doing?” 

“Helping you decide what you want.” Renjun began rummaging inside a filing cabinet, digging out a folder. He kicked the drawer shut and it clattered as he turned, his hands full. He carried the binder back, grabbing a notepad and pen from the desk on his way. 

“More designs?” 

Renjun ignored him as he sat down. “Tell me about yourself.” 

“What do you want to know?”, Jeno retorted. “Aren’t you going to show me what’s inside?” He reached for the folder. 

Renjun snatched it backwards quickly. “Ah-ah”, he grinned. “That wasn’t an answer.” 

Jeno reclined in the chair. Renjun put the closed folder back down on the desk and tapped his fingers against it, the invisible melody filling the quiet. “Okay, fine”, Jeno said. “I want a tattoo.” 

“I _know_ that.” Renjun rolled his eyes and straightened his back. “What do you do?” 

“I’m a mechanic.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“What?” 

“Is it close by?” 

“Garton Street”, Jeno said slowly. “It’s the other side of the river.” 

“So, tell me about it.” Renjun placed the pen down and folded his arms. 

There was a lot Jeno could have told Renjun. He could have told him about the sign above the decaying garage roof that had once read _‘Garton Street Garage’_ , except one of the _‘G’s_ had fallen off it a long time ago, and no one had ever bothered to nail it back up. Or, he could explain how long it took him to wash the grease off his hands at the end of a day when he had to scrub at the dirt under his nails. There were the people inside the garage too, and their garish tattoos. Jeno considered telling Renjun about their inked knuckles and forearms. None of it felt important enough. “It’s just the usual sort of mechanic stuff, grease and spanners, you know.” 

Renjun wrinkled his nose. “What else?” 

“I’m working on a car”, Jeno said, quieter than before. “My own car.” 

The Volkswagen Beetle was stored at the back of the garage. Jeno had salvaged it in the winter when it was brought in to be scrapped by an elderly lady. He’d seen its potential despite the rusting chrome and cracked wing mirrors, and when he’d asked, politely, if he could take it on, the woman had replied that if he could do anything with it, it was his. It’d taken Jeno weeks to make any sort of progress on the wreck, he’d had to scavenge parts for it, and lose his evenings trying to fire the engine up. He had a dream. A dream to get to the coast, in _his_ car, that belonged to _him_ , and he hoped that one day, it would be good enough to get there, so he could see the foamy waves hit the shoreline. 

“You’ve got a car?” 

“Sort of. It was junk. I haven’t road tested it yet.” 

Jeno watched Renjun jot notes down. They read simply: _‘likes cars a lot.’_ He couldn’t suppress the short, sharp laugh that accompanied his breath, and he tried to hide it by covering his mouth with his hand. 

“What?”, Renjun shot, pen pressed to the paper, scowling up at Jeno. 

“Is this actually going to help?” Jeno glanced at the clock on the wall. “My break’s almost over, I really should leave.” 

“It’s worth a try”, Renjun answered, scribbling again. “It was great to get to know you, Jeno.” He hummed. “But I’m not sure yet. Leave it with me for a while.” Tearing the paper from the pad, he rose and stuck it to his pinboard, beside the photographs and postcards. Jeno read the list. 

_Jeno:_

1\. _Tongue piercing_

2\. _Great music taste_

3\. _Is a city boy_

4\. _Works in a garage_

5\. _Likes cars a lot (really, a lot)_

The paper hung lopsidedly, buried amongst everything else. Jeno stared at the overlapping photographs. “Have you been to all those places?” He stepped closer. 

“No”, Renjun replied, “but I want to.” 

“They look amazing.” 

“They’re not mine, or anyone’s that I know. I just pick them up from all over, in magazines, or at markets.” 

“You want to travel then?” 

“One day.” Renjun pointed to a map. “I want to go all over the world. I’d start in Europe, go to the Eiffel Tower, and Venice. Then the US, Vegas.” He pointed to the outline of the country. “Then to China. I want to go everywhere.” 

Standing next to Renjun, Jeno thought about the world beyond the city, all the places he’d never been. Renjun was smiling wistfully at the photographs, glowing with his dreams of far off places. 

\--

At the age of eighteen, Jeno had wanted to be a rockstar. 

It was a childish ambition, but one that he, and so many others, had longed for. He had not realised at the time how like everyone else he’d been. It had been much easier to throw on a record than think of the future. 

Jeno had been in a band, that he’d formed with a group of friends – he’d taught himself to play bass guitar. They’d write songs together, and drink vodka mixed with fizzy coke in the park while they spoke against politics and discussed the newest bands. He had liked the decadence, the thought of losing control, the opportunity for self-expression and individualism. Blinded by the lights, the buzz of his bass, and the sexual freedom of the new world, Jeno found himself. He found that it was okay to listen to his heart, and to his body. The body belonged to the individual, and the individual did what they wanted with his or her _own_ body. 

Jeno did not tell many people that he liked men. How he daydreamed about laying kisses on a strong jaw, tracing the contours of a built body, and brushing his fingertips over the nape of a neck. The first time he’d acknowledged that his body belonged to him was when he’d kissed a boy. Not just a boy, _his bandmate._

He played drums. He had long eyelashes and soft skin, and he’d look at Jeno for too long sometimes, with a hunger in his eyes. All Jeno had wanted was to be loved, to know what love was like. Emotions had made no sense to his teenage mind. 

They’d been alone in one of the music rooms rehearsing, and the drummer had kissed him hard on the lips, with both his hands on Jeno’s face like it meant something. When Jeno had tried to kiss back, instead of electricity, he’d felt a hard shove to his shoulders, and then a punch to his jaw. The next thing he knew, he had gone crashing straight into the boy’s drum kit. Lip split, he’d been left with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as the boy ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him. That had been Jeno’s first kiss – _a secret kiss_ \- and afterwards, it had left shame swelling in his heart where joy might have been. 

At home, his mother had asked him what he had done to his lip. 

_“I got into a fight”_ , Jeno had yelled back on the way to his room. He thought she might have preferred that answer to the truth. Then he had cried himself to sleep for the rest of the evening, balling his bedsheets in his fists. 

The next day at practise, Jeno had turned up with a bruised cheek, and the boy had turned up with a new drumkit, and a new girlfriend. He had looked at Jeno innocently with an arm draped around her waist. _Faker_. They never spoke of the kiss, but the boy stole glances at him from time to time, and Jeno was afraid that if he ever brought it up again, he might have been met with yet another punch. For a while he had decided that he didn’t need love, because it hurt as much as the punch had done. 

The band broke apart in the end, after a couple of small concerts in school halls. Jeno had wondered if it had anything to do with the kiss, or more likely just the fact that they were shit. The dream had fallen flat and vanished along with the summer of eighty one. The boy was easy to leave behind, it wasn’t Jeno’s fault he wasn’t ready to accept that his body was his own, and that he could love whomever he wanted. 

A _mechanic_ hadn’t exactly been Jeno’s dream career. Being a mechanic was nothing like being a rockstar. He stared at the underside of the car. The tattoos from that morning felt far away, surrounded by rusty spanners and going home every day smelling of sweat. It was long hours for little pay, and if it weren’t for the cars themselves, he was sure he would loathe it. 

The board beneath Jeno pressed into the small of his bare back, wheels of the creeper jerking each time he dug his heels into the floor. 

“Jeno, mate, come up here a second.” 

The spanner fell out of Jeno’s hand, hitting the concrete. He groaned and threw his head back. 

The voice belonged to Tony, a short, stocky man and his senior at the garage. Jeno did not care for him much, not when he spent most of the time bragging about the women he’d slept with that month. 

“Why?”, Jeno huffed. 

“There’s a pretty boy here looking for you.” 

No pretty boy had ever come to see Jeno. Rolling out from underneath the car, he felt the air hit his naked chest. 

In the space in front of him stood Renjun. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, one hand grasping tightly at the strap. Draped over his other arm was a heap of leather. A leather jacket. _Jeno’s leather jacket_. He had completely forgotten about it. He breathed heavily, wiping grease on his jeans hastily. 

“You left this behind in the shop.” Renjun smirked and threw the jacket to him. “I thought you might miss it.” 

The leather was soft in Jeno’s hands. “What are you doing here?” 

“What do you think?” 

_“I mean_ , how did you know?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Renjun grinned. “Garton Street, wasn’t it? Garton Street Garage.” 

“You remembered?” 

“I’m attentive.” 

Jeno swiped his shirt off the roof of the car and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Renjun watched him. “What are you staring at?” 

“Sorry.” Renjun did not bother to rip his gaze away from Jeno’s chest. “I’d really love to _ink_ you.” 

_To ink him._ Jeno swallowed. 

“If you could actually decide what you wanted.” Renjun laughed and his Adam’s Apple bobbed forward. “Anyway, you might want to put that on now.” He nodded to the jacket. 

“I’ll pass. It’s a little stuffy in here.” 

Shrugging, and averting his eyes, Renjun mused at the workshop full of cars, cracked paint, and spare tyres hung up by metal chains. “This place is…” 

“A shithole?” 

“Yeah.” Renjun peered behind Jeno. “Is this the car you were telling me about?” 

“Nah, that’s not mine. I’m just fixing the engine.” Jeno patted the car as though it were alive. He walked to another beside it, tugging a tarpaulin off the top. “This one’s mine.” Jeno stared at the gleaming aluminium like it were precious treasure. “All ready to go out on the road”, he announced proudly. 

Tony sneered, waving his spanner in the car’s direction. “You won’t get further than the end of the road in that pile of junk.” 

“Very funny”, Jeno retorted. He had heard it all before, the comments about how the only place the car was fit for was the trash, that no one would go near him if that were the car he drove. 

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it”, Renjun said. 

“Really?” 

“Sure.” Renjun walked to the car and mimicked Jeno’s actions by patting the wheel arch lightly. “It’s just a little rusty, like the rest of this place.” 

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“It’s got a charm to it.” 

“Fancy a trip?” Jeno wiggled his eyebrows. “A test drive?” 

“When?” 

“Now.” 

_“Now?”_

“If you can wait half an hour for my shift to end.” 

“I don’t even know you, Jeno.” There was the hint of a smile on Renjun’s lips, but he raised his nose in the air defiantly. “How do I know you won’t kidnap me? Or swerve us off the road.” 

“Well, you know more about me than I know about you, _Renjun_. You never know, we might have a laugh, but it’s fine, you don’t have to.” 

Renjun bit his lip. “Where are you proposing we go?” 

The seaside was too far, the sun was already setting. Jeno shrugged away the idea. “I know a place.” 

“What place?” 

_“Primrose Hill_. You can see the whole of London from up there.” 

Renjun’s eyes sparkled, the eyes of a dreamer, but they clouded over quickly. “Fine. I’ll go”, he hesitated, “only if you put some clothes on.” He reached for Jeno’s shirt and threw it at him. “Just to Primrose Hill, okay?” 

“Just to Primrose Hill”, Jeno smiled. 

Jeno worked for the next half hour. Renjun sat at the side of the workshop on a rickety old chair, flicking through a grubby car brochure from a pile on the table beside him. 

Soon Jeno was at the wheel, and Renjun was beside him. The car had a cassette player built into the dashboard, but Jeno had no tapes for it, so he switched on the radio at full volume instead. A light push on the accelerator, and the car pulled away smoothly. 

\--

Jeno had been to Primrose Hill more times than he could count on his fingers. 

“It’s amazing.” 

It was Renjun who had spoken. 

The top of the hill was like the top of the world, with London laid out beyond. It was calm, like the eye of a storm, city life blazing below, buildings and lights and train tracks winding through the town. The sky was perfectly pink, and orange and blue all at once, the sun dipping below the horizon and dripping gold into the clouds. The daytimes on Primrose Hill were for families and hikers, the nights were for dreamers. 

On the top of the world, Renjun looked small, watching the city like a child seeing it for the first time. He still smelt of cloves, now mixed with the summer evening and the wild flowers on the hilltop. They clustered in the grass, tiny yellow and white petals pushing up through the earth. 

Closing his eyes, Renjun stretched his arms out slowly. One pointed towards the sky, fingers curling upwards, and the other back to Jeno. He stayed still, breathing in and out, _in_ and _out_. The fading sun poured warmth over his cheeks and sparkled in his eyelashes. 

“What are you doing?”, Jeno asked. 

“Pretending I’m a bird”, Renjun replied. 

Jeno would have asked _why_ , but even Renjun looked like he didn’t know. He imagined him with real wings, two great towers of feathers attached to his shoulder blades. It was magnificent, in the same way the skyline was magnificent, inexplicably so, sublime. 

Renjun opened his eyes and smiled at the hazy outline of the city. 

“Not a shithole?” 

“No”, Renjun said, “not at all.” 

“You’ve been staring for twenty minutes.” 

“I don’t get out much.” Renjun squinted at the town over the hill. “It looks like it goes on forever.” His arms dropped as he exhaled, shoulders sagging low. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” 

“Not yet.” Renjun knelt in the grass, not caring about the dew or the dirt. “I want to stay until the sun sets. I like it here.” 

Jeno joined him in the flowers, knees becoming damp from the dew. Renjun shrugged off his jacket and set it next to his backpack. 

“You wanted to be friends, didn’t you?” Renjun poked Jeno’s arm. “What do you want to know?” 

“Anything”, Jeno said. “Everything.” 

Renjun tilted his head to one side. “There isn’t a lot to know. It’s all boring.” 

“Tell me something boring then.” 

“I like reading”, Renjun began, “and I like the library.” 

“Really? The _library_?” 

“Yes. The library.” 

“You don’t look the sort, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” 

Renjun pulled his bag into his lap, unzipping it and taking three tattered books out. The pages were discoloured and crumpled. “Library books”, he stated. “I took them out two days ago.” 

Jeno examined the titles. _The Great Gatsby_ was the first; front page ripped to the edge of a drawing of an old Rolls-Royce, shiny yellow. _Brighton Rock_ was the second, a photograph of a rusty pocket knife on its cover. And the third. _Ulysses_. Renjun must have liked classic literature the most, Jeno thought. The books were the sort Jeno had studied at school. His eyes wandered past them up to Renjun’s smile. The sun was still on his skin, the light kissing it gently even though it had begun to disappear below the horizon. Jeno nodded, eyes flicking back to the books. “Okay, I know something about you now.” 

Renjun shoved them back into his bag and tossed it aside. Shifting so he lay on one elbow, he plucked a strand of grass, twisting it between his finger absentmindedly as he sat and watched the sunset fade. 

Jeno was distracted by a glimpse of skin. _Ink._ Orange and fiery red, a tiny phoenix rising from searing ash embellished Renjun’s wrist. The mythical bird glowed brighter with the sunset, talons outstretched. 

“Why a phoenix?”, Jeno asked. 

Renjun looked at his wrist. “It was my first one. I got it the day I turned eighteen. Back then, I knew I wanted a phoenix. A new life.” 

“I like it”, Jeno said. The wings of the phoenix twisted elegantly outwards, ready to take off in flight. 

Hurling the strand of grass towards the sunset, Renjun leant his cheek onto his hand. He glanced behind Jeno, at the car parked underneath a tree. “Why did you bring me here?”, he asked, laughing. “Don’t you have—I don’t know— a girlfriend to impress, or something? You must have a few of them. You look like a heartbreaker.” 

The sun had stopped shining on Renjun’s face, disappearing entirely below the horizon. Jeno studied the soft skin now shadowed, lips that were still pink, and a t-shirt that had slid off his shoulder slightly on one side, revealing a deep collarbone. “No I don’t have a girlfriend”, Jeno mumbled. 

“Oh, right.” 

Then the silence hung between them again. They stared at the tall buildings of the financial district in front of them, a string of office windows glowing like fireflies. Jeno squeezed his eyes shut, seeing the residual flashes in the darkness. “I like men”, he said quietly, opening his eyes. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.” 

Jeno did not know what had compelled him to say it. They were words that he did not say often, because it had bothered people before. If it hadn’t, Jeno was sure he would not have ended up in someone else’s drumkit. He waited, for something, for whatever insult might leave those sugary lips, but Renjun lay still in the grass. 

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” 

“Good to know”, Jeno laughed dryly. 

Renjun sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “I have a boyfriend”, he blurted out, not pulling his gaze from the grass. 

Jeno’s chest tightened and he took a deep breath, hoping the slight hitch had not been obvious. 

_Renjun liked men too._

_Renjun had a boyfriend._

His collarbone still jutted out sinfully at the place where his shirt had fallen down. He shouldn’t have looked, he was suddenly, painfully, aware that it wasn’t his to look at. He had no right. It was forbidden. A taste too sweet. Jeno dragged his focus to the skyline. 

“Oh, I— “, Jeno began hastily, “no, that’s fine, you must be happy.” 

“Yeah”, Renjun mumbled, drawing his knees in tighter and resting his chin on top of them. 

Jeno paused, searching for words. “The sun’s set,” was the best he could do. 

Renjun’s eyes lingered on the horizon. “It has.” 

“We should get back.” 

“We should.” Renjun didn’t move, taking in every part of the view. “Primrose Hill”, he said. “I’ll remember this place.” 

“I’m glad you like it, I guess we’re friends now.” Jeno forced a smile. 

“I guess we are.” Renjun grinned and grabbed his bag. “Thanks. That was fun.” 

It was as though someone had shoved a pin into Jeno’s bubble. 

They drove away from Primrose Hill, the radio playing as Jeno weaved through the congested streets. He dropped Renjun off at the end of his road, close to the river, an area of old brick warehouses converted to apartments. When he looked at the empty passenger seat, he did not just think of his own dreams, he thought of Renjun’s too. Far off places, and sunsets, and _pink, pink,_ coral lips. He wondered to himself if those were the stars. Looking down at the litter blowing at the side of the road, he felt closer to the gutter right now. 

\--

Saturday’s were Jeno’s favourite day of the week, no garage slog. That particular Saturday was different, that Saturday Jeno had a boy beside him in his bedroom. 

“How did I end up with you, _again_?”, Renjun asked, leaning on the windowsill. 

“You wanted to see my record collection.” Jeno smirked and took his cigarettes off the top of his chest of drawers. 

They had been in the tattoo parlour at the end of the day, just talking, and talking, until the afternoon had dwindled. Jeno had become a frequent visitor, but not just to look at the designs now. He’d mentioned his record collection somewhere in the conversation. 

“I’d like to see that”, Renjun had said. 

“I can show you it, if you’d like”, Jeno had replied innocently. 

They had pushed the bedroom window open to let in the summer air, the breeze blowing in from the grey streets below and ruffling their hair. Renjun sat on a stool Jeno had dragged across, and Jeno on an old wooden box he’d overturned to make a temporary chair. 

“I’ve never seen such a huge collection”, Renjun mused, nodding to the shelf of vinyl covering one whole wall. 

Jeno’s love for music had started when he was a teenager. He’d bought his first album from Woolworths when he was sixteen. The shop was in the busy part of the city centre, and Jeno would go there to stare at the top forty albums on racks at the front of the store. He’d use his allowance to pay for the songs he heard on the radio. He loved them, the excitement of flipping over the disc to play its B-side and the artwork adorning a limited edition. They began piling on his desk, eventually taking up the entire space on his bookshelf. 

Music could come without consequence, or it could preach anarchy, and rebellion. It could be raw and from the heart. Jeno liked that music the best. Music that was romantic in a sense, idealistic, that explored the self and brought people together, not tore them apart. Everyone wanted to be like the people in those songs. It gave them some hope. 

Jeno flicked open his cigarettes and held them out, only to be pushed back as Renjun took out an identical box of his own. 

“Here, have one of mine. I owe you.” 

Jeno pulled out a cigarette and watched Renjun place one between his lips and take out a cheap plastic lighter. He flicked it experimentally, the flame glowing blue and orange, and then held it underneath Jeno’s cigarette for a second. A gust of wind blew through the open window and quickly extinguished it. Renjun sighed, placing his free hand beside Jeno’s cheek to shield it from the breeze and flicking the lighter again. 

Jeno felt the heat from the flame, and the heat from Renjun’s hand that was impossibly close but not quite touching his cheek. _Dangerously close_. Eyes downturned and hooded, Renjun lit the end so it burned brightly. He looked up, gaze meeting Jeno’s for a fraction of a second. 

“You live with your parents?”, Renjun asked. 

“I do.” 

“Ever thought of moving out?” 

Jeno watched Renjun’s lips, catching the traces of light pink that remained on the filter when he pulled the cigarette away. “I can’t afford it yet.” 

Renjun nodded at the posters on the walls. “It’s nice.” 

“You’ve got your own place?”, Jeno asked him. 

“Yeah.” Renjun stretched his arms, resting the hand holding the cigarette on his knee. “Sort of.” He stopped to swallow. “Me and my boyfriend.” 

All too quickly Jeno missed the conversations about music, and record players, and cars and dreams. The room was silent. Renjun was squinting, staring out of the window, as though he was scrutinizing the details of the peeling white paintwork on the gate in the front drive. 

“Domestic bliss?”, Jeno laughed. 

“A little cramped.” 

“What’s his name?” Jeno’s throat felt like it was coated in ash as he asked the question. 

“Jay”, Renjun said, and nothing more came after that. He seemed more focused on the smoke leaving his lungs. “Anyway”, he continued, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray between them. He twisted it against the glass dish and bright orange changed quickly to dirty grey smouldering cinders. “Where was I?” 

Renjun had laid a pile of records over Jeno’s bed, eagerly flicking through the ones he didn’t have, holding them to the light to read the names of the song tracks. 

“I’ve not heard this one. I wanted to buy it when it came out.” Renjun held up an album, flashing it to Jeno. 

_“Echo and the Bunnymen. Ocean Rain?”_ Jeno smiled at the glossy purple cover with a painting of a small boat floating on a purple ocean. “Put it on, if you like.” 

Rolling off the bed, Renjun took the album to the record player on Jeno’s desk and placed it on the turntable, lowering the needle. The disc spun as he returned to the bed and lay on his back, sighing. His shirt rose up past his naval and Jeno let his eyes wander to the skin, giving into temptation for a second. Silky smooth. 

A loud cough left Jeno’s throat as he sprung up from the box-seat and grabbed the pile of records to distract himself, stacking them neatly as they were on the shelf. When he looked back, Renjun was still spread out with one arm beside his hip and the other above his head, a finger tapping to the melody of the music. Jeno walked over to shut the window. Renjun’s eyes were closed when he turned back. His breath deep and his chest moving steadily, up and down. Jeno’s heart followed the rhythm. 

“Are you coming over here or not?” Renjun patted the empty space beside him on the mattress. 

“Oh, yeah”, Jeno stuttered, “right.” 

“Pull the curtains first.” 

Jeno froze in alarm, but Renjun’s breathing was still steady. Gently, he pulled the frayed red curtains closed. The sun shone weakly through the material, the room washed in red. He lay down beside Renjun awkwardly, with his hands on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Have you ever put on an album and laid in a dark room?”, Renjun began, the music playing softly behind the lilt of his voice. “On a bed, or the floor, and closed your eyes? I used to do it all the time.” He pointed to the panels on the ceiling. “The sky’s up there.” 

Jeno laughed weakly. “It’s just wood and roof tiles.” 

“It is with your eyes open”, Renjun replied. “Try it. Close them.” 

Jeno’s eyelids fluttered shut. He paid attention to every word of the song. 

_In our world of wire_

_Ignite our dreams_

_Of starry skies_

_And you and me_

Senses heightened, Renjun felt near. They shared the music and they shared the space below an endless imaginary sky, just for a few minutes. The impossible possibility remained real with no one else there to see it. That’s what it was like to lay beside Renjun. An impossible possibility. With that impossibility, Jeno’s mind wandered freely. 

“Renjun?” Jeno whispered, eyes still closed. 

The shadow made him open his eyes and he saw Renjun leaning up lazily on his arm. He glared at Jeno. 

“What?” Jeno said defensively. 

Renjun huffed, face cracking into a smile. “You ruined the mood.” 

“I was going to ask a question.” 

Renjun dropped back down on the bed. “Go on.” 

“Does it hurt getting a tattoo?” 

“A bit. It depends where it is”, Renjun said with a small smile. “Is that what you’re scared of?” 

“Not really. I’m more scared of the forever part than the pain. It’s going to be there forever”, Jeno said. “That’s why I can’t decide what I want.” 

“You’ve got piercings, it’s not so different.” Renjun’s eyes flicked briefly to Jeno’s mouth then to the studs in his ear glowing red through the filtered curtain light. 

“It’s not like a piercing. If I took any of those out right now, they’d heal up like they’d never been there in the first place.” 

“That’s alright. I don’t think there’s many people that decide straight away. “It took me months.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. It had to be right.” 

“I guess so.” Jeno looked up at the ceiling, wishing the panels would become a starry sky. 

They did not speak until the album had played through all of the songs and the disc had stopped spinning entirely. Jeno found it hard to concentrate, when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t even imagine the stars above him. He thought about Renjun, their strange friendship, how, in ways they were like each other, and in other ways they weren’t, and that felt like a good balance. 

Renjun moved first, clearing his throat as he straightened his t-shirt over his jeans and walked to the window. The red glow vanished as he tugged the curtains to let the light back into the room, only lingering on his flushed cheeks. “It’s better at night anyway”, he said shortly, grinning uneasily. “I’ve got to get back. Thanks, I —”, he stopped for a moment before collecting his thoughts, “ —nice album.” 

“You can borrow it.” 

“Really?” Renjun’s smile widened as he glanced at the turntable. 

“Sure. Just drop it back once you’re done with it.” 

Renjun slid his jacket up over his shoulders. “Thanks.” 

Jeno’s parents were downstairs in the lounge. He had not anticipated running into them, but it was Renjun’s only route to the door. He cursed the design flaw in his head, stopping in the doorway, with Renjun behind his arm. 

“This is Renjun”, he said quickly, anticipating the awkward questions. 

He knew his mother wouldn’t let him go that easily. She looked away from the television. “Oh? _Renjun?_ This is your new friend?” 

Renjun stepped under Jeno’s arm into the room. “Hello, _Mrs…_ ”, he trailed off. 

“Mrs Lee”, his mother nodded cheerfully. 

“Yeah. New friend. He was just leaving”, Jeno rushed. His father’s stare was half fixed on the television screen, and half paying attention to Renjun. He did not say anything but Jeno could tell from the stern look on his face that he did not approve of Jeno’s _new friend_. It may have been the piercings, or the clothes, far too similar to everything about Jeno that he frowned upon. 

As Renjun left with Jeno’s album in his hands, Jeno closed the door and let out a shaky breath he felt like he’d been holding for hours. Throwing his head back against the doorframe, he squeezed his eyes shut and sank slowly to the floor. 

\--

Renjun returned the record eight days later. In those eight days, thoughts of tattoos and ink had sunk to the depths of Jeno’s mind. 

Neatly tucking the record back on the shelf, Renjun had smiled. 

“Like it?”, Jeno had asked. 

“It got better every time I played it”, Renjun had replied. 

Renjun stayed for longer, sitting on the bed with his head resting on a cushion propped up against the headboard. Music played from the turntable as he pulled out a book from his bag and began to read silently. Jeno wondered if he always made himself quite so at home in the houses of people he had only just met. He sat at his desk, flicking through the pages of a car magazine. 

After twenty minutes, Renjun put the book down in his lap slowly. “Do you want to go to a party?” 

Jeno spluttered and shut the magazine. “Huh?” 

“Do you want to go to a party?”, Renjun repeated, adding this time, “with me.” 

“What sort of party?” 

Now that he had gained Jeno’s attention, Renjun smiled coyly. “Just a party”, he said, “lights, drinks, and people. That sort of party.” 

Jeno felt his heart beating, he’d got used to it whenever he was around Renjun. “Why don’t you invite your _boyfriend_?”, he said and turned his nose up. 

“He doesn’t like parties.” 

Jeno shoved the magazine into the top desk drawer and folded his arms, leaning back against the chair. “Won’t he mind, you know, you inviting some random guy that you met a few weeks ago?” 

“I’m allowed to have friends”, Renjun laughed. 

“You want me to come to a party with _you?_ ” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Jeno unfolded his arms and shrugged. “Alright then.” 

Renjun raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to ask more questions?” 

“Actually, yes.” Jeno scrunched his nose. “Whose party are we going to?” 

As Renjun sat upright, the book slid out of his lap onto the bedsheets. “I’ve got this friend – Donghyuck, he lives on the other side of the city. He’s rich.” 

“How rich?” 

“ _Rich_ , rich.” Renjun’s eyes widened. “And he likes spending it on parties, he said bring whoever you want. It’s open for all.” 

“How do you know him?” 

“He came in to get a tattoo.” 

“You befriend everyone that comes in?” 

_“It was a big tattoo.”_ Renjun flung his arms up defensively. “I sat with him the whole time and we got talking. He’s got a girlfriend, and a big house. Not quite my type. But he’s a good guy.” 

“Yeah, I’ll come.” 

“Great.” Renjun bounced off the bed, standing behind Jeno. He reached for a pen in an old tin pot and started scribbling on a notepad next to it. Tearing the paper off, he handed it to Jeno. “In case you need me.” 

Jeno stared at the digits, eleven of them. A telephone number. 

“By the way”, Renjun grinned. “It’s tomorrow night.” 

Jeno nodded, the paper resting in the palm of his hand. “Okay.” 

“And one more thing”, Renjun ventured. 

“Yes?” 

“Will you drive?” 

Jeno sighed. “Alright.” He laughed and slung the telephone number on his desk. 

\--

“Fishnets?” 

The black mesh covered both of Renjun’s arms in woven diamond shapes, like studded stars. 

“Is it too much?”, Renjun peered down at his sleeves. 

“No, I like it.” 

Renjun stood on the pavement like a star, a beautiful star. His usual studs were not in his ear, replaced by a row of sparkly silver diamante. A matching silver t-shirt hid most of the fishnet, tucked into his jeans. He shivered and rubbed his hands together as he climbed into the car. 

“Where’s your jacket?”, Jeno asked. 

“I didn’t bring it.” Renjun stretched his arms out in front of him. “No one would be able to see all of this if I wore a jacket.” 

Jeno noticed the dark, black eyeliner Renjun had applied to his eyes. It made them striking, his irises burned like a supernova had exploded inside them and left behind pools of gold and brown. 

_Butterflies_. Jeno believed he had left them in the tattoo parlour, but they were back and now they twisted, not unpleasantly, in his stomach. He’d not dressed up much himself, spending a mere three minutes deliberating an outfit, and settling for an oversized plain white shirt in the end – rolled up sleeves and a loose fit. 

The car crawled through the traffic on busy roads. Renjun filled the time telling Jeno what he did not already know about Donghyuck. He had a job in the city, a very good job, a _‘suit and tie’_ sort of job Renjun had called it, working in a finance office. Jeno should have known because his house was in the part of the city people with money went, so much money that they didn’t know what to do with it all. Perhaps that was why Donghyuck threw parties, Jeno thought. 

They parked a few streets away beside larger, newer cars. Jeno was not sure he would call Donghyuck’s house, a _house_. Shrubs, and flowerbeds were overgrown around the gated entrance, and the place was vast – like a mansion from an old black and white movie. Lights were glowing in all the rooms and faint sounds of laughter and music filled the evening air. It reminded Jeno of his days at school, the parties in the basement of a stranger’s house, the time he’d spent not caring about the next day. This looked like a different sort of decadence, a decadence spawning from luxury. He was a little overwhelmed by it all, a little uneasy, a little out of place. 

“Ready?”, Renjun asked. 

“Yeah”, he lied. 

The door was not locked, but inside it was quiet and empty. The music came from above, a glass staircase leading up to the second floor. 

“Where is he?”, Jeno murmured , but when he turned back, Renjun had already taken off up the staircase. 

“Upstairs”, he called, beckoning Jeno to follow him. He was hit immediately by the smell of sweat and alcohol. 

Hordes of glamorous people swayed to the music, stumbled over tables and chairs, and picked at the trays of canapés laid out on a glass table in the dining area. The party lived and breathed the air of nineteen eighty five. Jeno could not see where the room ended beyond the crowds, and colourful beams shone on them from one corner where an impromptu dancefloor has been cleared. Here, Renjun didn’t sparkle like star, he sparkled like a _diamond_. 

Jeno had never been to party where alcohol was served in punchbowls. It was usually bottled beers in buckets of freezing ice. He and his friends would flick the caps off by knocking them down on the kitchen counter. Reaching out to touch one of the pitcher bowls, he noticed it too was made of glass, like the rest of the house, the liquid inside a vibrant artificial pink. 

_“Renjun!”_

Jeno snapped his hand away from the bowl quickly, hiding it in his pocket. 

A young man was clambering through the crowds. He looked like a boy, messy brown hair in his eyes and a childish grin, but he was clutching an expensive bottle of champagne. His suit was white, and creased, a blue open necked satin shirt underneath. _He must be Donghyuck_. When the boy threw his arm around Renjun’s shoulder, Jeno was sure it was him. 

_“Renjun”_ , the boy repeated, pulling him close and squeezing his shoulder. “Looking wonderful, as usual, I see.” He touched the fishnets on Renjun’s arms. “How are you, Huang?”, he rambled. His voice was silky smooth and he swung the champagne bottle as he spoke. 

“Same as always”, Renjun shouted back above the music. 

_“Really?”_ Donghyuck nodded towards Jeno. “This one with you?” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

“Who’s he then?”, Donghyuck teased. 

“This is Jeno.” Renjun laughed. “He’s my _friend_.” 

_“Jeno”_ , Donghyuck repeated slowly, the name rolling off his tongue. “Nice to meet you, _Je-no_ ”, he said, holding up the bottle. “Champagne?” 

“Oh—I— I’m not drinking. I’m driving us both back.” 

Donghyuck looked disappointed and turned to Renjun. “Champagne, Huang?” 

Taking an overturned glass from the table, Renjun held it out. Donghyuck filled it to the top and the bubbles fizzed over. 

“You two”, Donghyuck slurred, pointing between them with the bottle. “You look nice together.” 

Renjun smacked Donghyuck’s arm lightly. “You’re drunk.” 

_“Not drunk enough”_ , Donghyuck retorted. “Anyway, you two have a good night.” He tapped the champagne bottle against Renjun’s glass and winked. _“Cheers”_ , he emphasised, and sauntered off into the crowd. 

Jeno was sure champagne was supposed to be sipped slowly. 

Raising it to his lips, Renjun gulped the sparkling wine and slammed the glass down on the table top. He spun once, smiling at Jeno as he twirled an arm over his head. 

“What is that?” 

“Dancing”, Renjun shouted, twisting in time with the beat, then outstretching his arms and fluttering his fingers. “Come on, dance with me.” 

“I don’t dance”, Jeno replied. 

“Not even a little bit?” Renjun’s hips swayed back and forth. 

“No”, Jeno said, trying not to stare. 

“Not even at _parties?_ ” 

Defeated by the tempting display, Jeno slid off his jacket, allowing Renjun to pull him further into the ocean of people. 

Two and a half drinks later, Renjun was singing into a beer bottle with a group of people Jeno had never seen before. They all wore expensive suits, except Renjun who was shining like pure silver. The strangers were the sort of people that Jeno would see sipping cocktails in the city and pretending that they were aristocrats. He hung back, leaning against a table. 

“It’s crowded tonight.” 

Jeno did not need to turn to know that the silky voice belonged to Donghyuck. It was like a gentle flame. Jeno smiled. “You really know _all_ of these people?” 

“I know some of them”, Donghyuk shrugged, “and some not so much.” His champagne had vanished. In the distance, Renjun was swaying his hips again on the dancefloor. “What about you, how long have you known him?” 

“Who?” 

“Renjun.” 

However long it was, Jeno was certain that it felt like longer. “A few weeks”, he said, “I think.” 

Donghyuk nodded curtly. “He must like you a lot then.” 

“What?” 

“He usually just comes by himself.” 

The music was amplified through every wall in the room, walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in. Silver still shone somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and Jeno watched carefully as Renjun sparkled. 

“He has a boyfriend, you know?” 

“I know”, Jeno replied. 

The world was always reminding Jeno. He did not need Donghyuck to do so too, even though he seemed to know everything about Renjun that Jeno did not. 

Jeno caught a glimpse of Renjun scanning the room, until he was staring right at him. He raised his hand, waving with a huge grin before spinning off again. 

“You’re close with him?”, Jeno asked. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“He told me you met over a tattoo.” 

Donghyuck rolled his eyes playfully. “If you _must_ know, I was terrified.” He smiled over at Renjun. “So he stayed with me and talked endlessly, about nothing, so I was distracted. But I think he’s just like that - looking for someone to talk to. He’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, and I don’t even think he knows it.” 

“Is he always like this?” Jeno nodded to Renjun, now dancing with his eyes shut and his hair flung over his face. 

“Only when he’s drunk”, Donghyuck laughed fondly. If it were not for the girl that pulled him away half an hour later, and kissed his cheek lightly, Jeno would have been fooled into believing that Donghyuck too had fallen hard for Renjun. 

When Jeno looked again, Renjun had disappeared out of sight. He must have been caught somewhere in the heart of the crowd, where he seemed to love to be. Finding a couch to sit on, Jeno thought he was far too sober for all of this. He leant his head back and sighed. 

She appeared in front of him, the girl. Her dress was pale pink and satin, ribbon tied in a bow around her waist above a short, puffball skirt. Curled into soft blonde ringlets, her hair sat on her shoulders. 

_“What’s your name?”_ , the girl with ringlets shouted over the music. 

_“Jeno.”_

_“I’m Ruth”_ , she continued, dropping down beside Jeno. It made her dress balloon out, the pink satin touching Jeno’s leg, accompanied by a waft of roses. He was compelled to stand up and run. 

“Are you here alone?”, she asked, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes as she went on. “You looked awfully lonely over here by yourself.” 

“I came with a friend”, Jeno said awkwardly, craning his neck to search for Renjun. “He’s in there somewhere. How do you know Donghyuck?” 

The girl perked up, then frowned, _“who?”_

“The guy whose party this is.” 

_“Oh. Donghyuck.”_ The girl, _Ruth_ , fiddled with her fingers in her lap. She seemed nervous. “He’s a friend of a friend.” 

She rambled about parties and her job, and how her friend’s friend had just been dumped by her boyfriend and they had come to the party to cheer her up. She sat beside him smelling of roses, but even that became overpowering and sickly sweet. It made Jeno feel queasy. He searched for Renjun again but could not see him. He was bored out of his mind. Ruth was harmless, she seemed like a nice girl, that needed a nice boy, and a nice house, and a nice family, not Jeno. He felt suffocated each time she leant in to laugh softly, her head close to his shoulder. 

“What about you then?” 

“Sorry?” Jeno looked up at her, properly, he had not been paying attention. 

“I asked if there was anyone for you.” She stared into her lap. “Are you with anyone, _like that?”_

“Not really” 

“Not really?” 

What Jeno _meant_ was, that he was not with anyone, but he was not interested in being with her. 

The song changed, and Ruth tapped her foot to the beat, becoming livelier, and pulling Jeno up with her. She began to dance, satin dress swaying from side to side as she dragged Jeno with her. 

_The sound of shouting erupted over the track._

Renjun was standing on a table. Only Renjun, but around him the people were laughing and cheering. In his hand, he held the beer bottle and screamed song lyrics into it. The song ended and Jeno watched as he climbed off the table, biting his lip to stifle his laughter as Renjun tripped over his own feet. 

The girl tried to gain his attention by smiling at him expectantly. She giggled nervously. “He’s rather strange, don’t you think?” 

“No, not really”, Jeno replied flatly. 

She placed a hand on his arm. “I like your style”, she said, glancing at the white shirt, and worn jeans. “It’s sort of”, she hesitated, _“rough.”_ She parted her lips, and leaned in. 

He stepped backwards quickly. “I’m sorry”, he rushed. “I don’t want to kiss you.” 

“—oh—okay.” Ruth looked at the floor and then back up at Jeno. “We can just dance”, she offered, trying to hide her embarrassment. 

“Actually, I— “, Jeno started. The air in the room was hot, asphyxiating. “I think I need some air.” 

Spotting the balcony doors, Jeno ran to them, fiddling with the handle. It flew open and he walked to the edge, leaning on the iron railing. 

_Breathe Jeno_ , he told himself. 

The balcony was lit by coloured lanterns, and the breeze smelled of fresh dew. From the second floor, he could see over the gardens of Donghyuck’s house. Beyond that, the city spanned for miles and miles, the familiar glowing buildings as alive as the streets below them. 

Behind him, the party rang on, music now muffled, as if listening from under water. He took out a cigarette and lit it hastily, casting a foggy shadow of murky air over his view of London as he exhaled slowly. 

He jolted when he heard footsteps. The balcony doors closed, and the sound of boot buckles rattled through the night air, until he felt a hot body close beside him. 

“Can I have a drag?” 

Renjun’s hair was tousled, and the dark makeup around his eyes had smudged and run down his cheeks. 

Jeno handed him the burning cigarette silently. 

Renjun flicked the end and ash fell to the ground, then brought it to his lips and inhaled as he looked out over the city. 

“How did you know I was here?” Jeno asked. 

“I saw you leave.” Renjun handed him back the cigarette. 

It tasted sinfully of strawberries. “Do you come to a lot of these parties?” 

Renjun laughed. “Only when I want to forget about the rest of the world.” 

“It’s not really my thing”, Jeno admitted. 

“It isn’t mine either.” 

“So why do you come?” Jeno thought about Ruth, and the sweet scent of roses. He thought of opulence and satin, cut glass and champagne, and then he saw Renjun. The fishnets had torn at his elbow. 

“It’s something to do. New people to meet.” Renjun shrugged. 

He was just another one of those people to Renjun, a new face, a new friend. And then Renjun touched his arm. It wasn’t like when Ruth had done it, this made him shiver and tingle from the gentle brush of skin. Jeno shut his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. His dreams were not meant to have such a tender touch now. 

“I’m sorry for bringing you somewhere you don’t feel comfortable.” Renjun moved his hand back onto the cold metal of the balcony. “We can leave.” 

Jeno smiled at him. “I think you’re enjoying yourself too much.” 

Renjun grinned and nodded to the closed door. He stayed close after that, and Jeno found that he enjoyed it more, relaxing into it. Even after Renjun had downed two more drinks and dragged him up onto the table to dance with him. 

“Everyone’s staring at us”, Jeno said through gritted teeth. 

Renjun leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Let them stare.” 

It got late, and people started to leave the party. Clearly drunk, Renjun kicked his foot and sent one of the glasses flying off the table onto the carpet below. Jeno helped him down carefully. He stumbled, staring at his shimmering silver shirt and then looking up at Jeno with big, round eyes and mouth wide open. 

“Jeno?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m a _spaceman_ ”, Renjun slurred, pointing to his chest. 

Jeno had to hand it to Renjun, he was dressed like a spaceman, underneath the fluorescent lights, shiny and metallic. Jeno thought he could be made out of pure stardust. 

“Ground Control to major _Renjun_ ”, Jeno said, and Renjun continued to peer up at him, waiting. “You’re not a spaceman, you’re just drunk.” 

“Huh?”, Renjun murmured dreamily. 

Jeno patted him on the shoulder. 

“Come on spaceman, let’s get you home.” 

\--

Renjun found Jeno in the garage two days later, and soon after that, they had taken their third trip in his car. This time, neither of them could come up with a reason, it was simply because they _could_. They could have gone somewhere new, with the whole city their playground, but something had drawn them to the place it had started. 

Primrose Hill glowed orange, the same orange that had burned through the clouds like the last time when Renjun had stretched out his invisible feathered wings. The sky was aflame with the setting sun. It skimmed the horizon, and they watched it disappear, the stars soaking up the daytime. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets to combat the chill of the evening, Renjun drew in air through his chattering teeth. “When I was younger”, he began out of nowhere. “I went somewhere like this with my parents. I can’t remember the name now, but my mother said she wanted it to be perfect. She packed everything we needed into a picnic basket and put it over her arm, one day, out of the blue. I still remember it.” Renjun pointed out to the city. “It looked the same as it does down there now”. He was quietly thoughtful as he reminisced. 

“Isn’t nineteen eighty five meant to be different?”, he continued into the air, the question erupting into cloudy breath. “Nineteen eighty four was meant to be different, Orwell said so. Dystopia— the world was meant to go to shit.” 

“Yeah, well”, Jeno began, “don’t believe everything you read in books.” 

“Everyone’s waiting for something to happen this year, but no one knows what”, Renjun started dryly. “They just want the world to change.” 

“It sounds like you want it to as well.” 

“I do.” 

Glancing at the sky, Jeno pointed upwards. “Just think. Sixteen years ago, the world went to the moon for the first time. Now they’re saying we can go anywhere.” 

“Who is?” 

Jeno shrugged. “Everyone.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense, Jeno.” 

“We’ll be able to go to the stars soon and have holidays in space. Imagine it, they say flying above the planet will be as easy as flying over the Atlantic.” 

_“Holidays in space”_ , Renjun scoffed. 

Jeno nudged him with his elbow. “You know, there might be a Shuttle above us right now, there’s been so many in the last few years. They could be taking pictures of us _right now_.” He motioned a camera with his hands, pressing down on the imaginary shutter. Renjun laughed and batted his fingers away. 

“I’m imagining it now”, Renjun smiled, his eyes gleaming. 

“You should know”, Jeno grinned, _“you’re the spaceman.”_

He hid his face in his hands, muffling his voice. “I hoped you wouldn’t remember that. I’m sorry.” 

Jeno shook his head as Renjun peered at him from between his fingers. “Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” 

“I danced on a _table_.” Renjun lowered his hands finally. 

“You looked like you were having the time of your life.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What are you like when you’re drunk?”, Renjun asked, teeth chattering. 

“I still can’t dance, but I like to think I can”, Jeno answered. 

“Now I’d _love_ to see that.” A shiver shuddered through Renjun and he pulled his jacket tighter. 

“You’re freezing”, Jeno said. “Let’s get back.” 

With a small sniff, Renjun nodded. It was already later than they had intended to stay. Neither he nor Jeno moved immediately, like they wanted to remain with the view, or with each other. 

Jeno trudged through the grass first, Renjun following behind him to the passenger door of the car. 

_Keys._ Jeno searched for them in his jacket pockets, and his jeans. He patted both, fumbling inside but found them empty. 

“Jeno?” 

Renjun was peering into the car as Jeno hurriedly felt his pockets again. “Yeah?” Jeno felt panic rising in his chest. 

“Your keys are still in the ignition”, Renjun said blankly. 

_“Shit”_ , Jeno hissed. 

“What do we do now?” 

Jeno stared at the keys, pressing his forehead onto the cold glass. “I don’t know.” He tugged at the chrome handle. “I can’t get in, the lock must have dropped down when I shut the door.” He lifted himself up and straightened his back. “It’s done it a couple of times, I think it needs replacing.” 

“Wonderful, so we’re stuck?” 

Jeno smiled sheepishly. “Oops.” 

_“Oops?”_ Renjun shut his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “What do you normally do when this happens?”, he asked. 

“It’s usually in the workshop.” 

“Well, we aren’t _in_ the workshop.” 

An idea struck Jeno. “Spare key!”, he shouted. “There’s a spare key!” 

“Great!” Renjun perked up. “Where is it?” 

“In the –“, Jeno began, “workshop”, he finished, shoulders sinking again. 

“Can we go there?”, Renjun asked. 

“It’ll be locked now.” 

Tearing his hands out of his pockets, Renjun clasped them together and paced forward. “Okay. No keys”, he mumbled, changing direction, “Two of us—” 

“I’ll just wait it out to the morning, I can’t leave the car. I’ll find a phone box and call up one of the guys from the garage. They can bring the key out.” Jeno interrupted as Renjun sat beside the car on the cold ground, leaning against the door and wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself all night.” 

Jeno’s brows knitted together. “Why not?” 

“You can’t be trusted, you just locked your keys in the car. Who knows what you’ll do if I leave you by yourself?” His face softened then. “I thought—maybe— you might want some company.” 

Waking up from a dream, Jeno thought, was never pleasant, neither was the guilt that struck him then. “What about Jay?” 

Renjun peered up at him, eyes riddled with emotions that Jeno could not place. Not even one of them, he could not pick them apart from each other, so they stayed swimming in Renjun’s eyes, washed away when he blinked and pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’ll explain it in the morning.” 

Jeno sighed, accepting defeat. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright”, Jeno said. “There’s a shop down there.” He nodded to the lights at the bottom of the hill. “Wait here. I’ll get some stuff for us before it closes. What time is it?” Renjun pulled up his sleeve. “Eleven thirty.” 

_It was going to be a long night._

When Jeno returned from the shop, his hands were full of all that he could buy with the loose change he had, and two cans of coke were stuffed into his jacket pockets. Renjun was still sitting with his back pressed to the door of the car, head tilted upward at the sky. 

“Here you go, spaceman.” Renjun jumped, his shoulders tensing as he sent a glare in Jeno’s direction. Jeno threw a chocolate bar at him, and it hit his chest, falling into his lap. “Having fun stargazing?” 

Renjun pointed to a constellation, the tips of his fingers grazing the sky like paintbrush strokes. “The sky’s so much clearer up here.” 

Jeno remembered when he had laid beside Renjun in the room of red darkness. The music and an imaginary sky had filled their heads. This time they had the sky but no music, just the soft sound of breathing and a biting wind. Renjun picked up the chocolate bar and tore open the shiny foil, breaking off the first square. 

“Make it last, we’ve got all night”, Jeno warned, picking up a can of coke. 

“Pass one over.” Renjun gestured to the other can and Jeno handed it to him. “Thanks.” He flicked the ring pull and it clicked open with a resounding fizz. “Stranded on top of a hill in the middle of the night. I have to say, this is a first for me.” 

There was a glow over the city from the streetlights, and Jeno gazed at it sleepily. The cold of the metal found a path through the material of his jacket, and then his shirt, making him shiver suddenly. He curled further into himself, pulling his sleeves over his wrists. 

“Is it home, here –? ” Renjun yawned, settling back against the car, close to Jeno’s shoulder. _“Really home?”_

“Sometimes”, Jeno said. “Most of the time, actually.” He was afraid to give so much of himself to the boy beside him, but out here, in a tiny corner of the city they were alone. “I wasn’t born here if that’s what you mean. I was born in Seoul. We moved away when I was fourteen.” 

“You remember it then?”, Renjun asked. 

“Yeah, I do.” The memories were dying in Jeno’s mind, but he still thought about them sometimes. He was sure, one day in the future he would go back to Seoul, just to see it, the mountains around the city, the busy streets, and the snow in winter. 

“Jilin.” Renjun began. “I’m from Jilin, in China. I wasn’t even a year old when we moved here. My father worked for the embassy. So we came here, and I grew up, and started school, then work”, Renjun said. “Now here we are”, he laughed weakly, “stuck up a hill.” 

“How did you meet him?”, Jeno ventured. “Jay.” He sipped from the coke can, feeling the welcome hit of caffeine. 

“Huh?” Renjun looked up, defenceless, wiped his eyes and blinked them rapidly. _“Oh._ Our parents were friends. We went to the same school. He was in the year above me. We were just friends that got close. I was young, he told me he was in love with me.” 

“How did you know–?“, Jeno hesitated, “that you—” 

“I knew for a long time, I just pretended it wasn’t there, isn’t that what we’re all meant to do with forbidden thoughts?” Renjun rasped out a laugh. It sounded painful and throaty. “One day, Jay came round after class. I was seventeen. We were lying on my bed, and he kissed me. My mother walked in. Her son on a bed, with another boy over him”, he croaked. “She just cried. I think I’d have rather she shouted and screamed. I don’t think she could cope. Now she just doesn’t talk about it.” He brought the coke can to his lips, “anyway, I’ve told you too much, I’ll stop.” 

Jeno could see Renjun’s glassy eyes, and if he had not been holding back, he would have put his hand on his and wrapped their fingers together. He sat still. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Renjun dug his nails into his thigh. “No. It’s okay”, He untensed his hand and Jeno was sure he had left behind deep red crescents in his skin. “You must have been with people too.” 

“Yeah, but nothing serious.” 

Once Jeno had realised that his body was his own, he was free, to live and to love. Falling backside first, into a set of drums had not stopped him. _He_ was different, _he_ worked in a theatre in the West End, near Soho. _He_ had only come into the garage for a replacement battery for his car. His hair was long and feathered, and Jeno had been in awe. Mint. He smelled of mint, it had been the gum he was chewing. He knew even more about London than Jeno did. It was baptism by fire, Jeno’s first time in a nightclub. _Heaven_ , a place buried in the arches beneath the railway station. 

_“Watch and learn”_ , he had said with a smirk, and Jeno was awestruck. 

It was outrageous, scandalous, a place where he could kiss who he wanted when he wanted. Dingy, and underground, it was still a haven, _Heaven_. To Jeno, he was a new perspective on life, a new perspective on love; first times, rough kisses and rough hands. He was a couple of years older and Jeno was a _trophy_. Jeno supposed it was fun while it lasted but he’d got a new job and moved away to the suburbs eventually. He did not bother to take Jeno with him. 

“Oh—it was—nothing, really.” He gulped from the can again, staring straight ahead at the night sky. 

“What?” Renjun quirked a brow, smiling slightly. 

Jeno placed the half empty coke can back in the grass. “He was just some theatre guy.” 

Laughter rang through the air and the trees. _“You,_ of all people, had a _theatre_ boyfriend?” Renjun choked on his coke and spluttered. 

“It was a fling”, Jeno corrected. 

“I can’t imagine it.” Renjun tilted his head, expression more serious. “Did your parents know about it?” 

Jeno’s parents didn’t even know now that he was gay. Nevermind the theatre romance. He was twenty and afraid of a word, a feeling, and a part of him, because that was what the world had dictated. He imagined that his father might flip the dining table right from underneath him if he found out. 

“No—I never—no, I don’t think they knew.” 

“Would they mind?” 

“I don’t know—maybe.” 

Time felt like it was passing tediously slowly. Their conversation was sporadic and in the quiet moments Jeno stared discreetly at Renjun’s lips, soft and strawberry, warm and wet. Shameless, Lee Jeno, he told himself. _Absolutely shameless._

“What do we do for the rest of the night?”, Renjun asked. His eyes were hooded and drained. 

“Cigarette?” Jeno took the packet and held it out, shaking it so the contents rustled. 

“Please.” Renjun took one out, fingers accidentally brushing the back of Jeno’s hand. They were _icy, icy_ cold, and they made a shiver run down Jeno’s spine. 

Jeno lit them both, inhaling the smoke into his throat, drawing down his tongue so it moved out of his lips in the shape of an ‘O’. Rings of smoke followed out of his mouth, disappearing into the air. An old party trick. Renjun’s eyes went wide. He tried to copy, holding the smoke in his mouth and spluttering as he coughed it out all at once. He got the hang of it eventually, and they sat blowing smoke rings, like nothing in the world mattered. 

“Tell me more about those travel plans of yours”, Jeno grinned widely, trying not to look at Renjun’s lips again. 

“They’re just silly dreams.” Renjun cupped his hands together tight and breathed into them. He rubbed them together quickly. 

Jeno snuck a smile at him. “I like silly dreams.” 

Renjun went on. “I just want to go places, one day, that’s all.” 

“Why don’t you then?” Jeno drew in cold air sharply. 

“I can’t even afford it. I’ve been saving up, but I’m sort of stuck here.” Renjun laughed bitterly and closed his eyes. 

Jeno saw the imaginary wings behind Renjun for a second time then. They spanned his shoulders, extended outwards like the span of Renjun’s dreams, but the feathers were now clipped and rendered flightless. Jeno’s heart suddenly ached for the boy beside him who held the world in his eyes and his dreams on his lips. He wondered if Renjun’s lips tasted like strawberries, if devouring the dreamy words that fell from them would be sugary and sweet. He wished forbidden thoughts were not so exciting, that his lips were not so inviting to Jeno, glossy, begging for a kiss – _not Jeno’s kiss._

“One day.”, Jeno said. “It’ll happen one day.” He fumbled inside his pocket, pulling out the map. “A couple of years ago, I went all over the city, stayed in a bunch of cheap hostels.” Jeno recalled his nights on grubby hotel mattresses with hard bed springs digging into his back. He held the map between them, watching Renjun inspect it, letting his knees drop down as he let go of them. The map outlined streets with tiny drawings of big buildings. “It isn’t the world, but I used this to get around.” He placed the map in Renjun’s lap. “Primrose Hill isn’t the only place in London. Where d’you want to go, spaceman?” 

Renjun poked the paper lightly, pointing to a landmark. 

“There? We should go some time”, Jeno acknowledged and tilted his head back towards the car. 

Then, Renjun’s finger trailed across the page, falling off the edge. He pointed upwards at the sky and grinned. Jeno dug his elbow into Renjun’s ribs and they laughed together. 

“Okay, where do _you_ want to go?”, Renjun asked. 

Jeno knew his answer immediately. “The seaside.” 

Renjun laughed quietly. “Cute”, he teased. 

Jeno thought about the seaside, and the stars, and the rest of the world. Renjun had a boyfriend, and a lifetime of dreams. Jeno had a car, and a handful of shitty hopes. Crumbled hopes and dusty dreams in their empire of dead ends and cigarette ash. 

“What time is it now?”, Jeno mumbled. 

“Three in the morning”, Renjun replied sleepily, the words slurring from his barely parted lips. 

“The sun will be up soon.” 

Light crept into the sky again, and neither of them seemed to mind when Renjun’s head slipped onto Jeno’s shoulder. From the way he was breathing steadily, Jeno could tell that he had fallen asleep. 

Jeno leant his head back against the car door. He was afraid of how the tightening sensation of want, and guilt, and fear in his chest hurt so very much for him. For one person to carry all of that at once, he was afraid that he might break. He stayed awake until the pearl-grey dawn broke. 

By the time the key had come back to them in the morning, the night on Primrose Hill already felt like a dream. The perfect little dream with spacemen and astronauts where people got everything that the real world would never give them. 

\--

The wall outside the tattoo parlour had become familiar for them both. 

But today Renjun’s expression was unfamiliar, his eyes sunken and his jaw clenched. He gripped a cigarette tightly. 

“What’s wrong?” Jeno sighed. He only had twenty minutes of his lunch break left. 

Their meetings at these times had become routine, and they usually consisted of mindless chattering, not this silence. Renjun had been quiet since Jeno came into the shop, following him to the wall and trying to light a cigarette with shaky fingers. In the end, Jeno had lit the flame for him. 

“It’s nothing.” Renjun’s hand steadied as he brought the cigarette to his lips. 

“It’s not nothing.” 

Renjun exhaled. “It was just an argument. A stupid fucking argument. Me and Jay.” 

“Renjun—” 

“It’s fine. It happens. I just hate when it does.” Renjun shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “Can we talk about something else? It really isn’t important.” 

“What do you want to talk about?”, Jeno asked. 

Renjun shrugged dismissively. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Jeno felt his brittle heart clench and split into two as Renjun got up and dropped his cigarette end to the ground. 

“I’m sorry”, Renjun said in a crackly voice. He twisted his heavy boot on the discarded filter and walked away without saying another word. 

\--

Two weeks passed by before he noticed _that_ look in Renjun’s eyes again, soulless, defeated. Sensing this might be a longer conversation than last time, Jeno steered them toward the canal. 

“What happened?” 

“Long story.” Renjun stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

They walked along the towpath, passing underneath a rickety bridge, its heavy bolts rusted with age. He had wanted somewhere quiet, it was the first place that Jeno had thought of. The canal had always been quiet here, the banks were overgrown and rarely frequented, the tourists preferring to stay further upstream among the wine bars and craft markets. It was a small strip of green among the grey streets and Jeno would ride his bicycle along the waterside in the summers when he was younger, up and down the worn track, just for the thrill and the adrenaline rush, before his bike was stolen from right outside his house one evening. 

The air was sombre and muted. They sat on a bench that overlooked the water, past the long boats that were moored to concrete blocks on the bank. They bobbed and swayed next to a family of ducks on the water. 

“I needed to get out of that place. Too hot and stuffy”, Renjun offered. 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. “That’s not it, is it?” 

“Alright.” Renjun’s shoulders sank as he let out a deep breath. “You’re right. That’s not it.” 

“Another argument?” 

“Yeah”, Renjun said. “Another argument.” 

It troubled Jeno, the thought of where Renjun’s spark had gone. The slumped shoulders and tired eyes were out of character and he hadn’t bothered to push back the hair that had fallen over his face as he stared at the ground. 

Jeno reached in his pocket and pulled out a paper bag, rustling it open. “Want one?” He held out the donuts he had bought that morning from the café across from the garage. 

“Thanks, Jeno.” Renjun sniffed and took one of the sugar coated donuts out of the bag, biting into it. The sticky custard oozed out from the middle. 

Jeno saw a different Renjun then, the real Renjun that smiled brokenly at him. 

“Jeno?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you still want that tattoo?” 

Jeno had not forgotten about the tattoo. He thought about it in the times when he was in his own headspace. The times in front of the bathroom mirror, before showers, or afterwards when he would wipe at the foggy glass to inspect his empty canvas, ready to be stained. He imagined where the tattoo might go, poked at his collar bones and his ribs waiting for inspiration. 

“Of course I do.” 

“You haven’t mentioned it much”, Renjun replied, pouting. He seemed to have perked up at the talk of tattoos. 

Jeno’s cheeks burned, searing from the images flooding his mind. He spoke sheepishly. “I wanted to see yours first”, he said quietly. “I know the phoenix, but I mean the rest. You must have more.” 

“I do”, Renjun replied shortly. He smirked. “Just one other.” 

“Where—” 

“Somewhere.” Renjun tapped his nose lightly, indicating that it was a secret. 

“That’s ominous”, Jeno chuckled. 

Renjun let out a laugh. “Why do you need to know?”, he teased. 

Jeno answered truthfully. “I think it’d be beautiful, like art, y’know?” 

Slightly stunned, Renjun’s lips curved upwards as he formed a smile. “As a matter of fact”, he said, “it is.” 

\--

It must have been _him._

It was a sunny Friday afternoon on the wall outside the tattoo parlour, in the decaying street. Jeno’s lunch break had started early, and he’d spent the extra fifteen minutes he had gained hurrying along the dirtied pathways. 

As he neared the wall, he caught the sound of the shop bell and guessed another satisfied customer was proudly carrying fresh ink, but as he peered up from the concrete beneath his feet, he stopped. 

It couldn’t have been anybody _else._

Renjun came out of the door first, then _him_. The door slammed shut. And so did Jeno’s heart at the way their shoulders touched so casually, and the hand on the small of Renjun’s back as he was ushered lightly out of the shop. It was Jay. 

The man was tall, and slender, and he smiled. _Like a thousand fucking suns._ Jeno felt his stomach lurch. Button up shirt, and stoned washed blue jeans, black hair unruly and curled outwards at the ends. Handsome, but ordinary. 

Renjun stopped to shrug off the hand with a jolt of his hips, walking hurriedly with him towards the bridge over the river, without seeing Jeno. 

Even if Jeno wanted to speak, he was sure that his voice would probably shrivel up and die before it made it past his throat. There was no cigarette between his fingers, but it felt like smoke, whatever was filling his lungs and choking him, twisting and churning, and suffocating, the feeling that ate away at his insides so greedily. 

Once, Jeno’s mother had told him that too much of something was not good for him. Just like sugar could rot his teeth. He was sure that when she had said it, she had not meant too much to be too much of a beautiful, inked boy, but here he was. 

He had got too used to having Renjun around. His _friend_. He was in far, far too deep. 

_“You fucking idiot”_ , Jeno muttered to himself under his breath, and let his chin slump onto his chest. 

For the first time ever, he felt like a complete and utter fool. 

\--

Two nights later, Jeno heard a scratching at his bedroom window. 

The sound made his eyes bolt open from sleep. He sat up sharply, bedsheets tucked under his arms. The glass showed the night sky staring back at him. 

There were a few seconds of silence before it happened again. Tapping and scratching. Jeno watched as a stone hit the glass and fell, and then another. He threw the sheets off hastily, pulling on a shirt and rushing to the window. Another pebble hit the glass as he came face to face with it, forcing it open quickly. He stuck his head out and squinted. 

In the darkness and the grassy front garden between the beds of flowers outside their house, stood Renjun. The pebble throwing culprit. Jeno rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, the boy’s foggy form becoming clearer. Renjun’s hair stuck up in all directions, and he was dressed in pale blue pyjamas that buttoned up at the front, leather jacket slung over the top. If he weren’t standing right in Jeno’s garden in the middle of the night, then Jeno might have laughed at how ridiculous he looked. 

“Jeno—” 

_“Shhhh”_ , Jeno whisper-shouted hurriedly, eyes wide and alarmed. He was afraid the sound would wake his parents, and they’d come bounding out of their room bombarding him with questions, asking why exactly there was a strange boy they had only met once, now stood in the garden in the middle of the night. Jeno would not have an answer to give them. _“What are you doing here?”_

“I was out walking”, Renjun returned. 

Jeno glanced back at the alarm clock beside his bed. It flashed bright red. _“It’s one – fucking – thirty in the morning”_ , he shot back at Renjun. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

_“So, you came here?”_

“Can I come inside?”, Renjun asked hopefully. 

_“No—”_ Jeno thought about turning Renjun away, because them being close was not good for him. If he did, it might hurt less, or Jeno would get a sort of smug satisfaction from it. But the flame that Renjun had sent into his heart, licked savagely as he looked at Renjun, gazing at him hopefully from among the flowers. _“I mean—”_ , he stuttered. _“Alright, but just be quiet or you’ll wake up my parents.”_ He shoved the window shut. 

Throwing on some pants hastily, Jeno crept down the attic ladder, and then two flights of stairs. His frown softened as he opened the front door, seeing Renjun in the porchway with his arms wrapped around himself, and heavy, dark shadows underneath his eyes. His earrings had been removed, and the smoke normally around his eyes was gone, stripped back to just himself. 

Jeno touched his wrist lightly, beckoning him inside. _“Fucking hell, you’re freezing Renjun”_ , he said, hissing at the touch of icy skin. 

_“Sorry”_ , Renjun whispered. 

_“Quietly”_ , Jeno mouthed, placing a finger on his lips. 

Renjun nodded, but as he stepped inside, the floorboard creaked underneath heavy footsteps. 

_“I said quietly.”_

They crept past his mother’s aloe vera plants, and his parents’ bedroom on the second floor, to the attic. Renjun slumped down weakly on the shabby couch. 

“Did something happen?”, Jeno asked, voice returning to its usual volume in the safety of his own room. 

“Yeah”, Renjun answered. Jeno already guessed what it was. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“Thanks.” Renjun shrugged off his jacket and spread it over his lap. 

“Are you okay?” 

“It’s just an argument—” Renjun began forcefully, his voice dying in his throat, “they— happen.” 

Jeno flicked the lamp on beside his bed. “But, I asked if you were okay.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Good”, Jeno said shortly, sitting on the bed and staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry“, Renjun hesitated, “I’ll leave soon.” 

“Why did you come _here?_ ” 

“Because—", Renjun began, placing his hand under his chin. “Because I like being with you, and I like talking to you”, he admitted. 

At that moment, Jeno did not know who appeared more pitiful, the boy in pyjamas that hung loosely from his shoulders, or the one chasing after him hopelessly. He was too tired to think about it much. He sighed. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can stay here.” He nodded to the couch. 

“Is that alright?” 

“Yeah. It’s alright.” 

Jeno chucked a pillow from his bed and a blanket across the room and they landed in Renjun’s lap. He ended up curled on the couch, with the blanket spread over his shoulders and tucked just below his chin. Jeno switched off the lamp and rolled over so he was facing the wall. Only faintly, in the dark, could he make out the torn posters stuck up with sticky tape. He lay there wide awake, staring, too distracted to sleep. The sound of Renjun’s slow breaths did not help either, paired with the silence, it was suffocating. 

“Jeno?” 

Jeno thought Renjun had been asleep. “Yeah.” 

“Do you believe in fate?” 

“No”, Jeno answered, “Not really.” He did not believe in the inevitable, or the unavoidable. If the universe had a natural order – _fate_ \- Jeno thought, then it would not be teasing him the way it was. No entity could be that cruel. So cruel as to bring Renjun into his life. 

There was a long pause before Renjun spoke again. “What about love?”, he asked. 

Jeno rolled over, seeing Renjun faintly in the darkness, his cheeks translucent in the pale moonlight. Gripping the pillow with a closed fist, he spoke. “That’s a little heavy, for two in the morning.” 

“I was just thinking.” 

Jeno let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I believe in love.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes.” 

“I think it’s a bit like buying an album.” 

Jeno frowned, leaning up on one elbow. “Are you looking at my record shelf?” 

“Maybe”, Renjun answered. “But I really do. Falling in love, it’s like listening to a record.” 

Renjun could talk for hours and Jeno could drink up every word. Although he would never like to admit it. “What do you mean?”, he asked. 

“I mean, a person finds a record they love. They take it home, and they play it, and play it, and it’s exciting. They want it to last forever, but sometimes it eventually ends up at the back of the shelf, and they wait for the day they want to pick it up again.” 

“They need to find a really good record. They won’t get bored of it then”, Jeno said. 

Renjun hummed sleepily. “Yeah”, he mumbled. 

Jeno smiled and rolled back over. “You think too much. Go to sleep, spaceman”, he murmured. 

“Thank you”, Renjun said quietly. 

“For what?” 

“Everything.” 

Jeno was adamant in his condemnation of fate, and the nefarious universe, a merciless trickster always toying with him. But for the first time, he felt that he had seen the cracks within the boy that lay on his couch like brittle porcelain. 

He drifted off to sleep with one thought left lingering in his mind. He mapped the words out, as if that would make them the truth. He slapped his cheek lightly and buried his face into his cotton pillow. 

_I am Lee Jeno. I am not in love. Not me._

\--

“He’s just like you.” 

At breakfast, Jeno was quieter than usual. His mother had left for work at the school early. She often did that on busy days, leaving with her hair tied up in a loose pony tail, and a neat pencil skirt, her class notes sticking out of her bag, clearly stuffed there in a rush. He sat opposite his father at the table. 

Renjun had snuck out of the house in the early hours of the morning, but not without being spotted by Jeno’s parents. 

_“Oh_ , hello again Renjun.” His mother had been tending to her plants, his father beside her. 

“He needed a place to crash for the night”, Jeno had said. She had nodded and smiled. Then Renjun had left. 

But _breakfast_ , breakfast was when it had become uncomfortable. Jeno dug his spoon into a bowl of cereal. “I know he’s like me”, he replied to his father. He already knew that his father didn’t think much of Renjun. 

“It’s those piercings, and that god awful tattoo on his wrist”, his father muttered. Behind him, the radio played mindless pop music. 

“I think they’re pretty cool”, Jeno said. _Pretty cool_ , was an understatement. 

His father looked at him from behind gold rimmed glasses. “That’s one way of putting it. Personally, I think he’s a bad influence. You ought to find yourself some better friends.” 

“I like him”, Jeno said shortly. He wasn’t going to waste his breath on an argument he wouldn’t win. 

His father dropped his dish into the sink, returning to Jeno’s side of the table. Jeno felt him pat his shoulder. 

“You’re my boy, Jeno. I just want what’s best for you.” 

\--

In the following days, when they had time, Jeno showed Renjun London. _His_ London that he had discovered with his tatty tourist map. There was a new record store north of the city. Jeno had picked up a flyer outside the railway station and taken it with him to meet Renjun. 

“Do you want an adventure?”, he asked a frowning Renjun. He handed him the flyer with _Berwick Street Records_ printed at the top of the paper. 

Renjun inspected it. “A record store?” 

“A new record store”, Jeno corrected. 

“That’s not an adventure.” 

Jeno nudged him. “Anything can be an adventure”, he said. “Come on, you’ll love it. It says on there that they’ve got two floors.” 

They passed the billboards in the city centre and ran in and out of tube stations, hopping between lines. The record store was shiny and new, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air. In the middle of the lower floor, an imposing escalator carried shoppers to the upper level – it was the biggest record store that Jeno had ever seen. Busy with people, Jeno watched as Renjun stumbled excitedly through each of the aisles with columns of albums stacked by genre: _indie, pop, new romantic, jazz, alternative, rock, new wave, disco._ Renjun waved Jeno over as he flicked through a stack of Depeche Mode albums, sucking his lower lip in concentration. 

Sometimes, in the evenings, they would drive to the edge of London, where the roads were quieter, and Renjun would stick his whole arm out of the rolled down window and twirl his fingers through the wind. His hair would fly up – there was something so youthful about his face, even if it looked jaded sometimes. They’d blow smoke rings in the dark and listen to late night radio play of obscure songs - it was purity and innocence and decadence and their own indulgence all at once. 

Then there was the day that Renjun came running to Jeno with his hands clasped together. He was smiling as he opened them, revealing a small package wrapped in brown paper which he handed to Jeno. 

“What’s this?” Jeno tore away the paper, the cassette falling into his palm. 

“It’s a mixtape.” Renjun picked it up and held it in front of Jeno. “I made it for you. It’s got loads of good stuff on it. I thought you could play it when you were driving.” 

Across the front, a sticker scribbled in Renjun’s handwriting read: - _for long journeys_ – 

Jeno played the tape in the car, and usually he would smile, letting the music take him away. Sometimes though, he thought about Renjun and cigarette ash and strawberry chapstick, and a hand that wasn’t his own on the small of his back. Sometimes Renjun would be there beside him as the tape played to the end of the reel. Jeno would never tell Renjun how much it hurt to be near him. 

_He was Lee Jeno, he was not in love. Not him._

\--

Renjun was at his desk tending to a set of ink vials, arranging them by colour and writing labels for each, then sticking them onto the glass. His mouth was pinched, his eyes squinting to see the small print. Beside him lay a machine made out of steel that he picked up from time to time. 

Jeno had become used to Renjun’s retreat in the back room of the tattoo parlour. It was dark, and cold, and despite the fact that Jeno’s thoughts of tattoos slipped to the back of his mind whenever he was with Renjun, he still came by the shop to browse. At least to pretend to, until Renjun pulled him through to the back room, where they would sit for hours into the evenings. _Sometimes._

He’d done that today, dragged Jeno past the string of beads that separated the front of the shop with the back, into the part not meant for public eyes. Jeno had not seen him all week. 

The room was lit by a single lamp at Renjun’s desk. It illuminated the pictures and jagged newspaper cuttings stuck up on the wall. A stack of books were piled up, a printed library receipt on top. 

“What’s that?” Jeno pointed. 

Renjun put down a vial of blue ink and picked up the tattoo gun. “This is a liner. It’s just to outline the shape of the tattoo. You’d need a shader for colours.” 

“You’ve used one?”, Jeno asked. 

“Only in training. So, theoretically, yes. I started out on melons and grapefruits”, he laughed, “that’s how the mentors here train their apprentices. Before you can move on to people, they make sure that you can tattoo to depth, so the ink doesn’t bleed.” 

“How long until you qualify?” 

“Six months or so, then I’ll be able to start. I want to set up my own business, one day.” Renjun held the gun up to the light and it glittered. “Give me your wrist.” 

Jeno reached across the table. Instantly, Renjun wrapped his small hand around Jeno’s wrist. He flipped it over so the blueish veins spanning the underside were visible. Renjun ran the blunt end of the liner over them in a single swirling motion, rotating it in small circles. Jeno held his breath, the sensitive skin tingling. Renjun looked up at him, still holding his wrist firmly. Jeno wondered if Renjun could feel his heartbeat through the fragile skin. If he did, then he ignored it. 

“It’s alright, there’s no needle, it won’t do anything. It works just like an artist’s paintbrush, see”, Renjun said, grazing the skin with the tip again. “Up and down, like this.” 

The tingle spread from Jeno’s wrist to every other part of his body that time. It made him shiver sharply. Renjun pressed his thumb over the bundle of veins in Jeno’s wrist and put the liner down on the table. Jeno almost stopped breathing. 

“And then it’s there. The start of someone’s story. Living art.” Renjun picked up a vial of red ink and inspected it nonchalantly, like Jeno’s heart wasn’t beating the fastest it had ever raced. 

Jeno frowned. “What do you mean, _story_?” 

“Every tattoo has a story”, Renjun said, as he stuck a label over the red vial, and then did the same to another filled with purple ink. “It’s up to the person to decide what it is.” 

“I’ve never thought about it like that.” 

Renjun picked up a handful of the vials and placed them delicately inside a box on the desk. “You said it yourself, it’s there forever. You’ll die with it. There’s no point if it’s meaningless.” 

“I don’t think I’ve got anything meaningful in mind.” Jeno thought of the tattoos he had seen, the dagger, and the tiger, and the butterflies. He had no emotional attachment to them. 

“It’s okay, every tattoo has a different story.” Renjun walked slowly back to the table and sat on the edge of it. He inhaled deeply, and if Jeno were brave enough to let himself admit it, he would have said that he saw a flash of fear in Renjun’s eyes before he blinked it away. “I want to show you.” Jeno nodded, not really following what Renjun meant. 

“Turn around and close your eyes.” 

“Why?—” 

_“Turn around.”_ Renjun’s voice was trembling. 

Jeno faced the wall, shutting his eyes. He still managed to picture Renjun in the darkness. The sound of shuffling brought him back to reality, he guessed what was happening. Blood pumped through his body, the adrenalin rush hitting him like a smack in the face. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, beating, and beating, and beating like a drum. 

“Okay”, Renjun said quietly. “You can look now.” 

Jeno opened his eyes and turned, almost passing out at the sight in front of him. 

Renjun’s whole back was exposed, and there in the centre, beginning just below his nape and extending all the way to the tiny dip beneath his shoulder blades, the tattoo was burnished into his skin. The softest lines of clockwork mechanisms formed the shape of a bird, with a golden sun rising behind it. 

“A bird”, Jeno breathed. “Another bird.” 

“I wanted to show it to you”, Renjun whispered. “I designed it myself.” 

The sketches Renjun had snapped shut rose in Jeno’s mind. One of Renjun’s drawings, turned to real life art. “I knew it would be beautiful,” he breathed. 

The fragile wings of the bird spanned Renjun’s back, soaring in the dingy backroom of the tattoo shop in the artificial light. It told the story of a boy with dreams. The clock parts depicting the passing of time. Jeno thought of Renjun’s story, the photographs on his desk, on Primrose Hill, pretending to be a bird and the endless sunsets. Renjun’s dreams, carried with him on his shoulder blades, pure and free, forever. 

Renjun’s shirt pooled around his waist and Jeno could see the outline of his skinny hips where the curves met his jeans. It drove his imagination wild. He ran the stud in his tongue against the roof of his mouth nervously, staring straight forward at the curve of Renjun’s spine, his senses exploding with the thought of tracing it over the soft contours. 

Jeno took a deep breath to calm himself. To have those thoughts about Renjun whilst his back was turned, was _shameful_. 

“Can I—?” 

“Yeah.” Renjun breathed. 

Jeno touched one of the wings on Renjun’s back. His skin was soft, and warm, burning, setting Jeno’s fingertips alight. He felt Renjun shudder underneath the touch as he traced along the feather slowly. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay”, Renjun stuttered. 

The muscles in Renjun’s back were taught and tense. He’d turned his head halfway, the silhouette of his profile visible beneath the hair covering his eyes, then stopped still, letting out the breath he had been holding. Jeno wanted to bend down and press his mouth to the marked skin, to a wing tip, but instead he walked his fingers like a feathery kiss across the bird, and Renjun let him. Jeno felt Renjun’s chest rise and fall, rough and unsteady. He inhaled sharply and pulled his eyes away, straight into the glare of the desk spotlight which shone in his eyes, blinding him. 

He snapped his hand away, fingers still tingling. 

He was not sure what he would call it: fleeting, unrequited, or true. It didn’t matter. All types were as bad as each other because it didn’t make a difference. 

As Renjun pulled his shirt up past his shoulders and fastened the buttons hastily, Jeno repeated words in his head like a mantra; a sad, sad, love story. 

_I am Lee Jeno. I am hopelessly in love._

\--

Jeno would walk on fire for the boy with the beautiful bird tattoos. 

He’d grafted all week replacing endless exhaust systems. It was good really, he treated it as a distraction. Renjun would meet him on the wall occasionally but it felt as though he were avoiding Jeno sometimes, and other times, it was as if he clung like his entire life depended on it. They did not speak of what happened in the backroom of the tattoo parlour. 

Jeno had been at the end of his shift and washing up when Tony nudged his shoulder. Renjun was wearing a worn out smile to match his torn jeans and scruffy Doc Martins. The eyes behind the smile were lacklustre again today. He’d asked if Jeno ‘fancied a drink’ in the bar by the riverside, and of course, Jeno had said yes. 

It smelled of stale beer and sweat, mixed with the lingering stench of cigarette smoke. In a quiet corner, they sat at a table with a plush cushion-covered couch curving around it. The room glowed neon, the sound of laughter and the jangle of voices overpowering the music. Jeno ordered a round of snakebites at the bar, putting one down on the table in front of Renjun. 

“You look like you need cheering up.” Jeno sat beside him, sipping the drink. 

Renjun lifted the pint glass and downed a few mouthfuls. “Thanks.” 

“You’re alright though, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

On the other side of the room, a local band were mid soundcheck. The singer tapped on the microphone – one, two - one, two – flicking his dyed blond hair confidently. His jeans were rolled up at the ankles, over a pair of pointed black boots. A shiny green jacket zipped half way up his chest at the front. Tap, tap – one, two. 

“What’ve you been up to?” 

“Nothing much.” Renjun tapped his foot, distracted by the bursts of music starting up across the room. 

“Did you argue again?” 

“Yeah.” It sounded as though Renjun had given up trying to deny it. 

Jeno pushed further, the tiniest buzz of alcohol busy in his bloodstream. “What about?” 

“Stupid stuff.” Renjun shrugged, taking a gulp from the snakebite and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed. “The future.” 

“Huh?” 

Renjun looked up at him, his finger drawing circles on his glass where it had frosted over with condensation. The message his eyes conveyed was unmissable, unmistakable. “I get these feelings”, he said quietly, a confession that almost became lost among the other voices around them. “I feel like I’m trapped.” He gnawed at his pink tinted lips, “like I’ve used up all my life” he spoke dryly. “I’m twenty”, Renjun replied, “and going nowhere.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is it.” 

The pictures of the far off places, the postcards and the photographs that belonged to Renjun but weren’t his came to Jeno’s mind. “What about travelling? All your pictures?” 

“Yeah”, Renjun laughed, “they’re just dreams.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

Renjun shrugged and gulped down the remainder of his pint. “I don’t know. Me. I guess.” 

The noise of an electric guitar reverberated through the room, stealing Jeno’s attention for a second. Over on the dimly lit stage, the guitarist had joined the soundcheck. He paused, adjusting the amp volume and adding more vigour to his movements. The slam of a bass guitar cut their conversation short as the performance began. Renjun glanced at Jeno and smiled apologetically, turning his attention to the band. 

Their knees brushed as the band played on, occasionally shouting to each other over the loud music. The hours passed and the set finished, to half-hearted applause and a few whistles from the small crowd in front of the makeshift stage. 

They got up to leave, as the members slung their instruments back into their cases and negotiated payment with the landlord. Jeno wondered whether they’d make it, if they were less terrible than his band had been back in school. Maybe they would get their dream and not be stuck performing in run down pubs, with people like Jeno and Renjun only half paying attention to them. 

Jeno led Renjun to the door, the effects of the alcohol having worn off for a while already. The air outside was tense and humid, thick grey clouds trapping the atmosphere. Jeno’s shirt stuck to him uncomfortably as they crossed the bridge over the river to the streets that were more familiar to them. Thunder began to rumble overhead, and the clouds cracked, sending rain pitter-pattering from the sky onto his hot, _hot_ skin, and burning mind. The rain soon became a downpour, and Renjun leapt, yelping, under a bus shelter as they met the main road. 

Jeno stayed out on the empty sidewalk, droplets tickling his skin and drawing patterns on his arms. A street light waned above him, buzzing noisily. 

“Jeno, what are you doing?” Renjun stood underneath the shelter with his arms folded. 

“Cooling off”, Jeno called back with a grin and tilted his head backwards, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the rain drench his face. 

“You’re getting soaked”, Renjun called, throwing his head back and laughing. A burst of lightning shot through the sky and Renjun leapt further under the bus shelter. 

Opening his eyes at the bright flash of light across the sky, Jeno saw Renjun’s slight smile, as he regained his composure. “It’s liberating”, he shouted and flicked his wet hair off his forehead. Renjun laughed louder this time, shaking his head disbelievingly. The sound echoed through the empty street, and Jeno ran forward to the edge of the shelter. 

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ”, Renjun said bluntly. His arms were still folded protectively, but his smile was unmissable. 

“You’re not afraid of a little bit of rain, are you?” Jeno smirked and pulled Renjun’s arm out into the downpour, soaking it. 

“No—no—“, Renjun protested, “Jen—” 

The rain hit Renjun’s arms first, pulled forward by Jeno into the storm. He pulled back a hand to hit Jeno playfully, but Jeno blocked it by taking his wrist and twirling him round. With the band’s music still ringing in his ears, it was easy to fall into the movements, Renjun’s face softening into a smile as the rain drenched them both. A foot forward, and a foot backwards, like a crackling cassette tape was playing behind them. It wasn’t like when he had danced at the party, Jeno wasn’t sure he had ever danced like this. 

“I thought you didn’t dance”, Renjun grinned. 

“It’s different in the rain.” 

Renjun stepped backwards, and an empty can crunched under his foot. He slipped, gripping hold of Jeno’s arm instinctively, t-shirt soaked already. Jeno smiled back at him, feeling fingernails digging into his skin. He looked up slowly and the rest of the world faded to grey. 

The thunder clattered again, clouds raining down on them. They poured anger and longing, and frustration from the sky, caught in the raindrops that Jeno watched settle in Renjun’s hair and soak it. A drop of water stuck to Renjun’s eyelashes, falling when he blinked. Another settled by his temple, and Jeno wanted to kiss it away. The rain traced paths down his cheeks, black streaks from the eyeliner was running down Renjun’s face like cold tears. His nails dug harder, breath trembling, and his gaze flickered with torment, Jeno wondered if they were both thinking the same forbidden thought. 

Renjun’s free hand moved upwards, as if to cup Jeno’s cheek softly, but it fell away, and his grip weakened. Jeno could no longer feel the sharp sting of angry fingernails, instead, he felt a head press onto his shoulder, Renjun collapsing into his arms in one swift movement. He let out a single sob, his shoulders trembling against Jeno. Once the first tear fell, the rest followed like a burst dam. 

They had already made enough mistakes but he allowed himself a moment of weakness, his cheek falling onto Renjun’s hair and his arms circling his waist to hold him for the first time ever. Renjun was strong willed, and independent, but in Jeno’s arms he cried like a little boy. It couldn’t possibly be wrong to love, but the smothering heaviness in his chest overwhelmed him. 

“I’m sorry”, Renjun mumbled into Jeno’s shirt, and Jeno didn’t care that he was probably staining it with dripping tears and runny eyeliner. It was accompanied by three feeble hits delivered to his chest in quick succession before his hand slipped down and he let it drop as he sobbed. Jeno held him tighter. He could hurt forever just to have him in his arms. 

“I’m not him, Renjun.” 

“I know.” 

When the guilt, and the fear and the desperation became all too much, Jeno let go. A single step backwards separated them enough for Jeno not to let him fall into his arms again, his body cold without Renjun against it. He shivered slightly. 

Renjun stayed still, as though still curled into a comforting shoulder. Boneless, head slumped, he looked like he bore the weight of a thousand hurts, tears tracking down his cheeks, or perhaps it was the rain, Jeno couldn’t decipher it anymore. 

He clenched a fist and squeezed his eyes shut, taking another agonising step backwards. 

“Where are you going?”, Renjun croaked. 

Jeno opened his eyes. Renjun was trembling all over, his hair stuck flat to his forehead. He was crushing Jeno’s heart as easily as the end of a cigarette in an ashtray. They were hopeless. 

“Home”, Jeno said, and moved backwards again. 

He took another reluctant step, and another, until he was running out of the dirty alleyway. He didn’t look back, he knew it would break him if he did, he’d go straight back to Renjun and hold him. He ran all the way home, his legs were shaking and his eyes filled with their own fresh tears. He dived under the covers of his bed and cried. 


	2. Dreams

August came, and Jeno was miserable. 

It had been a month since the rain had poured on him, and Renjun. Strange, he thought, how everything had returned to the way it had been before they met. He still had the garage, the guys there, breakfasts at the table with his mother and father. 

It was what he had lost that hurt like salt to an open wound. Now, the city had never been so dull, and he’d never thought he could miss the smell of cigarette ash in someone’s hair. 

Even his mother had noticed Renjun’s absence, passing the attic room to ask Jeno where he had gone. Jeno had said nothing, afraid he might burst into tears on her shoulder if he did. He didn’t know what he would have said to her if he even _tried_ to explain. She had proceeded to tidy the records strewn across his desk, slotting them back on his shelf. Underneath one of the discs had been the paper with Renjun’s phone number on it from the night before Donghyuck’s party. When she had left, Jeno had stuffed it into a drawer and closed it shut. 

The air inside the garage was stuffy and sticky on the Wednesday evening that it happened. Jeno had his head down in a car hood, and the radio playing. He wore an old grey paint stained t-shirt over old jeans and his hands were covered, as usual, in grease. 

“I thought I’d find you here”, a hesitant voice said. 

Jeno froze, letting go of the oil filter he’d been working on. Renjun stood on the other side of the room. 

He felt his synapses twist. Renjun had not changed much since the evening in the rain, hair still unkempt and jeans still ripped at the knees. 

“I work here, of course you’d find me”, Jeno replied, the fire burning in his throat. He wiped his hands on a rag and slammed a button on the radio to cut it off abruptly. The room went silent. 

Squeaky footsteps from shiny black boots echoed as Renjun moved forward. “Hey”, he said quietly, his little finger twisting a stray piece of denim on a rip in his jeans. 

“Hey, spaceman.” 

“I just finished up in the parlour”, Renjun spoke hesitantly, “I thought I’d drop by.” 

“It’s been a month.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you come here for something?” 

“I—yeah—you.” Renjun shook his head. “I mean, I wanted to talk to you.” 

“About what?” 

“Not here.” 

Jeno had already got himself in too deep once before. He wondered if it were possible for Renjun to break his heart again. Still, he grabbed his jacket from the hook on the wall and threw it over his mucky t-shirt. “Come on then.” 

“Where?” 

Jeno pulled his keys out, nodding to the car parked by the garage door. “Where d’you think?” 

\--

Primrose Hill was quiet by the time they arrived, and the sun had already set. They hadn’t spoken on the journey, and Jeno had turned the radio up to full volume to drown out the quiet. On the hill, they sat in silence on the grass beside the car. Renjun’s legs were crossed, Jeno an arm’s length from him with his legs outstretched. 

“Did you fix that lock yet?” Renjun patted the car. 

“No, not yet.” 

London twinkled on the horizon. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, so Jeno was sure it was the city glare that made Renjun’s lips shine like pink starlight. 

“You smell like diesel”, Renjun laughed weakly. 

“I work in a garage.” 

Jeno was not counting the minutes, but the silence dragged with the memories of the rain still clinging to both of them. He could see Renjun picking at the grass and fidgeting restlessly. 

“Okay”, Jeno stated once it had become unbearable. “Talk to me.” 

“I was talking.” 

Jeno shook his head. “That isn’t what I mean.” 

“I—” Renjun began but his mouth clamped shut. He was staring forwards, but his eyes darted back to Jeno, lip quivering as he opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to speak. 

“We broke up”, he whispered. 

“What?”, Jeno shot disbelieving. 

“We broke up”, Renjun repeated flatly. 

Jeno bit his lip anxiously as the tightening feeling in his chest arose. “When?” 

“Three weeks ago.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Renjun turned to face him finally. “It wasn’t working, and you know that too, everyone knew it but they were too afraid to say it.” He paused, “I moved out.” 

Lost for words, Jeno stared back. 

“It’s okay.” 

Jeno looked down at the grass. “Are you happier?”, he asked gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Renjun nod slowly. 

“In a way.” Renjun breathed out shakily. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

Deafening quiet followed. And then the sound of shallow breathing. Jeno expected Renjun to speak, to crumple and cry, or light up a cigarette. But he remained still. 

“It’s late”, Renjun said finally. 

“If that’s all—” 

“Yeah.” 

“Should I drive you home?”, Jeno asked. “Wherever that is now.” 

“Yeah, I suppose you should.” Renjun regarded the skyline a final time then stood up. “I moved back home, to my parents.” 

Jeno jangled the car keys in his pocket, tossing them into his hand. He found he couldn’t quite fit the key into the door lock, his fingers far too jittery. When he did, it clicked open, and he heard Renjun tug on the handle the other side, sitting inside with his hands in his lap. 

The space inside Jeno’s car had never felt so small and claustrophobic. It hurt to want. To want more than seemed humanly possible, to be wanted back but never to have. Renjun looked at him with glassy eyes. Jeno slotted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t turn it. 

He wasn’t sure who had moved first. One moment his hand was gripped around the gear stick, and the next it was holding Renjun’s jaw. A second ago he had been staring out into nothingness, and the next he was tasting strawberry chapstick. 

They kissed, bruising and rough, with desire and need, desperate for each other. 

Jeno undid his seatbelt hastily, his lips not breaking contact with Renjun’s as he moved to cup his face properly with both hands. He was on fire, kissing Renjun lit up all his senses at once, and even though it was hot and messy, their lips were burning. Renjun pulled Jeno closer and ran his tongue over the metal stud, whining softly into Jeno’s open mouth and knotting his fists into his paint-stained shirt. 

They were clinging to each other, the most united their bodies had ever been. It felt like a dream, but so much more, so much better, and Jeno finally tangled his fingers into Renjun’s hair, holding onto his dream tightly. 

They were still fiery, but the kisses became softer, like glowing embers. Jeno brushed against Renjun’s wet lips and the warm taste of strawberry was stronger now that he let himself linger. The taste was overly sweet, artificial, but Jeno was already hooked on it. 

Renjun threw his head back against the steamed up window and gripped Jeno’s thigh firmly, his fingernails digging through the denim. It was so hot, and so intense, Jeno felt as though he could barely breathe as Renjun’s fingers slid to the top of his jeans. 

They broke apart suddenly, faces close, chests heaving. They’d had no time to think. 

“Are you okay?”, Jeno breathed, his fingers still curled into Renjun’s hair. 

Renjun was panting. He nodded. “I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure you want this?” 

“Yeah." 

“Not here.” Jeno sealed Renjun’s lips again with a kiss. 

The motel was the closest one they could find. It wasn’t unlike the rest of the city that Jeno knew, grubby and functional. Flocked wallpaper and cracked walls. A twin room. They didn’t even have time to push the beds together. 

The door shut, and after a brief moment of nervous hesitation Jeno was pushed up against the back of it, Renjun’s hands sliding to the back of his neck and drawing him in for a deep kiss. Jeno licked into his mouth, circling his arms around Renjun’s shoulders and for once he let himself get lost in his dreams. 

They stumbled impatiently, knocking into a floor lamp in the unfamiliar territory. It toppled over, but they paid it no heed. The bedsheets were scratchy as they hit the thin mattress, discarding items of clothing onto the tiled floor. Renjun wrapped his arms around Jeno’s shoulders and pulled him in close slowly, like he had been wanting to for so long that he was savouring every second of it now. 

Jeno mapped out every part of Renjun with his mouth, teeth grazing his collarbones, lips pressing kisses softly across the wings of the clockwork bird on Renjun’s back, soft and beautiful, until they were skin to skin in each other’s arms. Renjun clung tightly, digging so hard into his shoulders that Jeno knew he would leave angry red scratches. 

It could have been rushed, but they took their time. Jeno stroked his fingers along Renjun’s abdomen and ran them slowly up his soft thigh before replacing them with his mouth and nipping gently at the smooth skin between Renjun’s legs. The sheets twisted beside him and Renjun gasped as Jeno felt a hand curl into his hair. Then he felt himself being pulled into the crook of Renjun’s neck, and their limbs entwined until they were scratching and clawing at each other, the sharp springs of the bed digging into both of their backs for the rest of the evening. 

He smiled at a now sleepy Renjun and saw all of his dreams reflected in his sated eyes. Whatever they were could wait until the morning, with the blankets bunched between them, and the second bed empty, they had broken each other down and mended the pieces all in one night. 

In the cramped single bed, Jeno finally held Renjun in his arms. 

\--

The tattoo parlour smelled of antiseptic, and familiarity. Seeing the collaged walls and velvet chairs was like coming home. The juke box was playing noisily, and strangely, it was comforting. 

Jeno had not seen Renjun since they’d slept together two nights ago. It was not that they were avoiding each other, but more that they did not know what to say. Perhaps it was guilt, or vulnerability now that everything had changed so quickly. He’d still smelled Renjun on his clothes the next morning, the shameful scent of ash and sex. 

Jeno rubbed his thumb over the postcard in his pocket to assure it had not fallen out on the walk, feeling afraid to face Renjun. He pushed through the string of black beads covering the backroom entrance. Inside, Renjun was alone at the table, his head buried in a book. He lowered it and looked up innocently at the sound of the beads tinkling. 

Jeno wanted to kiss him right then. “What are you reading?”, he asked. 

“A book.” 

“A library book?” 

“No, my own book. It’s about a bird.” Renjun flashed the cover at Jeno and buried his head in the pages, as though suddenly shy. 

“Of course it is.” Jeno inspected the thin paperback, a drawing of a ghostly bird with its wings spread, descending from a point above a golden sun. _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ was printed below. It fitted, with the phoenix, and clockwork bird. 

“A seagull”, Renjun continued. 

“Pfft.” Jeno sat in the seat beside Renjun hesitantly. 

Renjun raised his nose in the air indignantly. “It’s an allegory”, he said, “for life. It’s about learning and bettering. I read it once when I was a child, but I never understood it.” 

“And you do now?” 

“I think so.” 

“It sounds riveting”, Jeno joked. 

Renjun pretended to tut, the pages of the book fluttering as he tossed it down on the table. 

“Hello _Jeno_ ,” he mocked. 

“Hello Huang.” 

“That isn’t your nickname for me.” 

_“Spaceman”_ , Jeno said, exaggerating each syllable as he took out the postcard and slid it across the table. 

Renjun frowned, examining it. “What’s that?” He picked the postcard up. “The seaside?” 

The postcard was tattered, and there was a hole in the top from where Jeno had pinned it to his bedroom wall when he was fifteen. The front read _‘Greetings From Brighton!’_ , above a pebbly beach with waves crashing on the shore. He’d bought it on a school trip from a little beach hut-turned tourist shop on the promenade above the beach. They had travelled there by coach, the class of twenty crammed into the vehicle. He had not been back since, but if one of his dreams had come true, he thought that he may as well push his luck with the rest of them. 

“Come with me”, Jeno said. “On Sunday. It’s only about an hour’s drive through the suburbs.” 

“Are you asking me on a _date?_ ” 

“I—think I am.” 

Renjun looked back down at the postcard and pressed his lips together, hesitating before he swiped it off the table. Jeno worried that he had pushed too far too soon, because a tiny amount of guilt flashed over Renjun’s face. What had happened could have been a one-time thing, a release of pent up emotions and forbidden feeling. Renjun held the postcard up and closed one eye. 

“Yes.” 

“Huh.” 

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” 

\--

“Nice shades”, Jeno quipped as he leaned over from the driver’s seat and pushed open the passenger door. 

Renjun flung his back pack into the Beetle and flopped down next to him, lowering his sunglasses slightly to peer over the frames. He smiled broadly in response and Jeno caught a brief glimpse of his own grin in the mirrored lenses as Renjun pushed them back up his nose. It was Sunday morning and the cloudless blue sky provided the perfect backdrop for their road trip. 

He had already considered the possibility of awkwardness. The last time they had been in these seats, it had ended in a fervid make-out session. Now it was planned, a real date, and new territory for them both. 

Jeno took a deep breath to calm his nerves and slid the gear stick forward, revving the engine. 

“You kept it!” 

Renjun’s arm was outstretched, the sleeve of his black t-shirt rolled up so that Jeno could see the flex of his bicep as he pulled a small object from the glove compartment. The clear plastic case reflected the sunlight as Renjun waved it in front of Jeno’s face, cassette rattling inside it. 

“For long journeys,” Jeno smiled. 

Renjun slotted the tape into the cassette player and the intro to _‘pretty in pink’_ filled the car. 

Jeno pressed his foot down on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb as Renjun wound down the window beside him. He looked divine, with the wind whipping through his hair as they drove down suburban roads out of the city, grey buildings fading to scenes of green grass and eventually chalky cliffs. Guitar chords and basslines carried them along the highways, both of them shouting the lyrics. 

“Which way to the sea?” Renjun asked as Jeno swung the door open. 

The parking area was dusty and on the edge of town, a steep incline forcing Jeno to check that the handbrake was engaged properly before he got out. Looking around him, he pointed downhill, “that way.” 

The salty smell of the sea, and acidic vinegar was distinct as they rounded a corner and were presented with the picture-postcard view of the coastline. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s arm and pulled him to a pedestrian crossing, eager to reach the broad, paved walkway that ran along the back of the pebble beach. Jeno noticed the palace pier in the distance as they turned along the promenade, its sturdy pillars of iron and mock turrets sticking up from the sea like a rusty castle. 

The last time Jeno had been to the seaside, he had eaten sticky candyfloss, from a quiet kiosk on the beach, and shared it with his school friends when they were meant to be sketching the geology of the sea cliffs. It had been the end of the summer season with a chill bite to the sea breeze and only the occasional fisherman braving the rough water. Now, the shores were filled with raucous screams of laughter from the foamy waves and skateboarders weaving in and out of the crowds on the promenade. 

Renjun squinted. “Where to first?” 

Jeno pointed at the pier. “There.” 

The lights above the pier entrance twinkled red, barely visible from the glare of the sunshine. The aroma of vinegar was stronger than it had been by the beach, rising from the many stalls lining the attraction. 

Underfoot, worn wooden slats with gaps in between revealed a drop to the sea water below. Jeno strode ahead and turned to see Renjun stuffing his sunglasses in his back pocket. His face was pale as he stepped cautiously without looking down. 

“Are you alright?”, Jeno called. 

Determinedly, Renjun nodded and gripped the iron railing. “I’m fine. I want to get to the end.” He took another calculated step and shut his eyes momentarily as they were drawn to his feet. A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair and it stuck up at the back, making Jeno smile endearingly as he headed back to walk with him. 

White crests topped the waves as they leaned against the black railings at the end of the pier. Renjun held on tightly, his fingers clenched and knuckles white as Jeno peeled his left hand away from the iron and slipped his slowly around it. Neither of them commented on the way that their fingers laced together neatly as their arms hung over the railing, both of them fixed on the vast seascape extending in front of them for hundreds of miles. It felt good to be out of the city, more private, anonymity and freedom washing over them. Renjun’s palm was hot and sticky, a little forbidden, a little exhilarating, and Jeno lived for the thrill. 

“If you took a boat out there, the first place you’d get to is France”, Jeno remarked, swinging their hands out over the ocean. 

“The north coast?” 

“Yeah.” 

Renjun turned to Jeno, his eyes crinkling at the edge as he smiled. “You wanted to come to the seaside in your car.” 

“I did.” 

“How’s living the dream, then?” 

The water crashed against the pier. “Perfect”, Jeno smiled. 

Humming quietly, Renjun rubbed his thumb over the top of Jeno’s hand. They stayed watching the sea for five, ten, twenty minutes. Jeno wasn’t sure, he didn’t care, not when Renjun’s hand was in his. 

“You hungry?” 

“Mhm, a little.” 

Reluctantly, Jeno slipped his hand out of Renjun’s, nodding to a stall with a blue and white striped canopy in the distant arcade of shops. 

Renjun was less afraid on the way back, but he still walked close to the railing, and glanced at Jeno every now and then for reassurance. Jeno carried the plastic bag with two portions of greasy chips, salt and vinegar already added, past the promenade to the beach. It was quieter now that the late afternoon had set in. Passing a row of neat deck chairs, Renjun gestured to an outcrop of rock near the waves and ran ahead to secure the spot. With the portions of chips unwrapped between them they chatted idly while they ate. 

_“Hey!”_ Renjun tugged the bag into his lap and huffed. The grey and white bird swooped towards them, diving down towards their lunch. With a flap of its wings, it pulled up sharply and turned away to circle them a few times before alighting on the pebbles further up the beach, pecking at an abandoned ice cream cone. It strutted back towards them after a few minutes, still eyeing their food deviously. 

Renjun studied it silently. Taking a sketchpad from his backpack, he rested it on his knees as he fumbled in the bag for a pencil. It was similar to the sketchpads he kept in the drawer at the tattoo parlour. He flipped the pages open and began to draw, peering up occasionally at the bird. Its steely black eyes scanning the beach, each time drawn back to Renjun, plotting its next move. 

“You two friends now?”, Jeno laughed. 

Renjun paused, using his pencil to point to the bird. “It’s a seagull”, he said flatly. 

The lines of Renjun’s drawing were bold and purposeful, like the seagull itself, a sense of animated flight leaping from the page. Its charcoal tipped wings were spread out like a kite and its head was turned to the ground in cunning surveillance. 

“Is it for a tattoo?” Jeno could already envision the lines in ink. 

“Maybe, one day.” Renjun picked up the pencil again and ran it over the paper to add the final detail. Then, he snapped the sketchpad shut and stuffed it in his backpack. Sensing the stand-off was over, the seagull beat its wings and soared upwards, high above them towards the fading sun, until it was no more than a dot in the sky. 

Dusk fell over the deserted beach and took the chaos of the day time away with it. Although they’d watched the sun go down before, the new twist in their relationship cast a noticeably warmer glow around them. Jeno was sure they had been there for hours, but he was content. 

His heart only cracked when he looked beside him at Renjun. His eyes were brimming with wet tears. They didn’t fall, pooling in the corners instead. 

“What’s wrong?”, Jeno asked. 

Renjun stared at the sea. “This feels different.” 

“Different?” 

“Different to before.” 

A twinge of remorse sent Jeno plummeting. “Oh?” 

Renjun lowered his head. “I feel like I shouldn’t be happy.” 

Jeno chewed at his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, if this is too soon, we can— ” 

Renjun shook his head. “I’ve never felt this before.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“Alive.” The sound of the waves still muffled Renjun’s words. “When I’m with you I feel alive”, he said. “I was so afraid of dying without living,” he paused, sighing softly. “I thought it would get better. I mean, we used to be happy, I thought that’s what love was. But slowly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t anything he did, or didn’t do, just this feeling that my life was slipping away.” He turned to Jeno. “Have you ever felt that? Like you’ve forgotten how to live?” 

Jeno waited for him to continue. He blinked back, the pain in his eyes suddenly softening. Reaching out boldly, he touched Jeno’s cheek with two freezing fingers. “And then someone walked into the tattoo parlour, out of the blue and I came to think that I’d never be truly alive if I weren’t with him.” He stroked the fingers gently down Jeno’s skin. 

Jeno shivered and placed a hand over Renjun’s, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips to the freezing fingertips, watching the myriad of emotions once again cloud the eyes looking back into his. 

They left their shoes on the uneven pebbles by the shore. The water was cold without the sun’s warmth but strips of bright moonlight illuminated the inky black water and danced around their feet as they felt the waves lapping at their skin. 

“What time have you got to be back?”, Renjun asked quietly. 

“Anytime”, Jeno whispered in response. 

The shadow of the palace pier hid the silver streaks of moonlight as they approached the looming structure, the shallow waves breaking against the columns that supported it. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s hand and ducked behind one of the pillars, pulling him against his chest and wrapping his arms around his neck. The sharp stones on the seafloor dug into the soles of Jeno’s feet as their noses bumped softly. Like two teenagers new to love, Renjun stole secret salty kisses in the darkness from his willing lips. 

\--

Renjun’s mother had a kind face, and soft dimples. Jeno met her for the first time when Renjun invited him to stay for the night. Permed hair, and a finger adorned with a gold wedding ring, she hummed as she rattled the cutlery in the kitchen drawers. 

Her husband was away on a business trip in the countryside for the week, so it was just her and Renjun in the house. She chatted politely, asking Jeno about his work in the garage, her bony fingers gripping a teapot, and her pink polka dot dress swaying as she brought it to the table and poured tea into three china cups. 

The house itself was new built and pristine, a circular wooden table with plywood chairs in the lounge. The curtains were a subtle shade of green, and hung from hooks above the window, a vase of pretty purple sweet peas arranged neatly on the sill. Taking a final sip of tea, Jeno swirled the leaves in the bottom of the cup and set it down, thanking Renjun’s mother first. 

Renjun proceeded to pull him upstairs by the sleeve of his jacket into a room at the end of the hallway. It was small, a box style room with a bed in the corner, but it was stuffed full. If Jeno thought that Renjun’s desk at the parlour had been an explosion of his dreams, his bedroom was something else. The walls were covered in pages clearly ripped straight out of magazines, newspaper cuttings of celebrities, and even more travel destinations, all clearly left over from his childhood. A turntable was balanced on the floor beside his closet, a minimal collection of records stacked on a shelf next to it. 

Jeno dropped onto the bed and shrugged his jacket off. “She seems nice”, he said, thinking back to the way Renjun’s mother had smiled as she addressed him. “Does she know about us?” 

Renjun shook his head. “I haven’t told her, but I don’t think I need to. _She just knows._ ” He bent down to flip up the top of his turntable and place a record inside. “She’s getting used to it.” 

A song played softly, and Renjun sat in a chair at his desk tapping his foot. Thrown on the top were Renjun’s sketchpads, all open with pencil sketches and scratchy biro outlines. 

“Are those your designs?” Jeno tilted his head towards the plethora of drawings that were usually kept so guarded. It was unlike Renjun to leave them lying about. 

“A few of them.” 

“Can I take a look?” 

Unexpectedly, Renjun did not sweep the sketchpads off the desktop in a fluster. Instead, he picked them up, slotting against the wall next to Jeno on the bed. He placed the sketchpads between them. 

Jeno picked the first one up and it fell open to a page with a nightingale drawn from compass lines. In its beak, it carried an inked twig. 

“They’re years’ worth of drawings”, Renjun said, pointing to the nightingale. “I did that one back in college.” 

Jeno touched the drawing lightly, feeling the dips in the paper where Renjun had applied more pressure. “You went to art college?” 

Nodding, Renjun leant his head on Jeno’s shoulder. It _still_ made his heart beat quicken. “It was always my favourite subject at school. Then, when I got to college, I discovered ink, and I knew I wanted to get into tattoos.” He turned a page slowly. “I got the apprenticeship in the parlour two years ago. I was lucky, it’s competitive, and a slog.” 

Another bird. An elegant swallow. “What do your parents think of it?” 

“My mother’s always supported me.” Renjun’s hair tickled Jeno’s cheek like a feather. “I remember one of the first ever drawings I did for her. It was of a sunset. I was six.” He laughed softly again. “It was shit. But she hung it above the fridge for years. Now, she likes to brag to all her friends about her _artist_ son.” 

Jeno flipped more of the pages to reveal eagles, and owls with outstretched wings. “Most of these are of birds.” 

“Ah—yeah. I guess it’s my style”, Renjun grinned. 

_Just like his tattoo_ , Jeno thought as he stroked over the feathered wing of a white swan. “You really like them”, he smiled. “Is there a reason?” 

“I suppose it’s where I find most inspiration”, Renjun murmured. “And—” He stopped himself. 

“What?” 

“It’s really dumb.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Alright.” Renjun sighed. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a bird.” 

Jeno laughed and Renjun poked him lightly. _“See._ I told you it was dumb”, he whined and pressed his palm to his face. “I thought that one day I would fly. Obviously, I realised when I grew up, but I didn’t stop loving them.” Hesitantly, he glanced at the sketchbook. “I never really show these to anyone.” 

“You should. They’re incredible.” Jeno turned another page, seeing the seagull from the beach. It had been a silly bird, but Renjun had made it beautiful in the drawing, tiny, webbed feet and wings extended. “The seagull”, he said, and touched it softly. 

“I think it’s one of my favourites.” 

In the end, Renjun gathered the sketchbooks up and carried them back to his desk, scattering them messily. Much later, when the two of them were squeezed into his small bed, blankets half covering them and half strewn on the floor, Jeno could not sleep. Renjun’s back was pressed against his chest, and he noticed himself staring through the darkness, at the drawing of the seagull left open on the desk. 

\--

They had flipped a coin the day before Donghyuck’s party. 

“Heads, we go”, Renjun had stated matter-of-factly, digging a coin out of his pocket and resting it on top of his thumb, “tails, we don’t.” He was staying over for the weekend, currently reclined on Jeno’s bed in an oversized, borrowed, checked shirt. 

Jeno watched from the other end of the bed as the coin flew up into the air like a rocket taking off as Renjun flicked it forcefully. It landed on the back of his hand – _heads up._ Renjun rolled onto his stomach and threw his fist in the air triumphantly. 

Jeno groaned and buried his head into a cushion. _“Alright_ , but we’re walking there this time.” The words had been muffled by the material. 

The last party of Donghyuck’s that Jeno had attended, had been a strange experience, one that he could not decide whether he had enjoyed or not. He thought back to the huge house with a gated front from all those months ago, the sickly sweet fruit punch bowls, the brief romances blossoming in the corners of the room, and all the people in their expensive frocks and satin. Not terrible, but not his thing, whatever that was. 

As a result of the coin, they had ended up back in Jeno’s room the next evening. They had two hours until the party started. Jeno had no shirt on, sweaty and sticky from the air trapped in the attic room. He was splayed out on the bed, his hands behind his head. 

“We don’t have to stay long”, Renjun said as he threw on a pair of trousers that he had brought with him. They were faux leather, and they clung to his thighs in the most alluring way. Jeno couldn’t help but take a peek at his ass as he turned to inspect his appearance in the mirror. He pulled out a thin white t-shirt from his bag and slung it on, the phoenix tattoo burning bright orange on his wrist and visible on display. 

“Not dressing as a spaceman this time, then?”, Jeno grinned, thinking back to the sparkly sliver sequins sewn into the shirt he had worn to Donghyuck’s party. Renjun scowled playfully, walking to the closet and taking a plain black shirt off a hanger on the railing. He slung it at Jeno and it landed on his bare chest. 

“What about the tables, are you going to dance on those again?” 

“Get up”, Renjun demanded, ignoring the comment. 

Jeno rolled out of bed, blankets sliding off his legs into a heap on the floor as he threw the t-shirt over his head quickly and slid his arms through the holes. Patting down his hair, he pulled out a pair of jeans from a drawer, stepping into them and tucking the shirt inside. It was completed by a black belt with a shiny silver chain hanging in a loop. 

Dropping back down on the bed, Jeno watched Renjun, who had moved to stand in front of the mirror attached to wall above a low table. It was covered in all of Jeno’s deodorants and aerosols. Renjun knocked them aside, resting his knee on the wood for balance. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Eyeliner”, Renjun replied, already focused on twisting a small black tube open. 

Jeno saw the reflection in the mirror as he applied a single clean sweep of black eyeliner lightly on the lid of his right eye. Through the back of the thin white t-shirt Jeno could make out the distinct lines of the bird spanning his back, visible as the shirt stretched tightly over his shoulders. Jeno felt his stomach stir wildly at the sight. He held his breath as Renjun applied another fine line across the left lid. The look was minimal but striking. To finish it off, Renjun took out his classic tube of strawberry chapstick, twisting it up a notch at the bottom, running it smoothly over his lips and pressing them together. 

“You never go anywhere without that do you?” 

“I like having _soft_ lips.” 

When Renjun turned around, he appeared like he had stepped straight out of a brat pack movie, smoky eyed and glossy lipped. He smiled coyly as he walked forward, with hips that swayed naturally, to sit on the bed. Leaning in, he placed his hands either side of Jeno’s waist and grinned, the eyeliner gripped between his fingers. 

“Want some?” Renjun waved the tube about. 

“Some of _that?_ ” 

“Yeah.” 

Jeno had never properly worn any sort of makeup. The rest of his band had, because everyone else was doing it, so they did too. He’d only tried once, before a concert when he’d been experimenting with it in the dressing room under harsh mirror lights and no sense of what was good and what wasn’t. It was sloppy and uneven, so very clearly applied without proper experience or practise. Despite this, Jeno had thought that it matched the look he was going for at least halfway to perfect and went out onto the stage with blotchy eyeliner and his base guitar strapped over his shoulder. 

“Alright”, Jeno replied, still penned in by Renjun’s arms. The boy on top of him wasted no time in smiling and twisting the lid off again. 

“Tilt your head up towards the light and close your eyes”, Renjun instructed. 

Jeno shut his eyes as the first stroke of the wet brush touched the edge of his eyelid. It was cold, and it felt foreign as Renjun dragged it swiftly across, holding onto his chin lightly to steady his head. He wriggled as the brush touched his eyelashes. 

“Stay still”, Renjun laughed softly, tapping his chin. “I’ll mess up otherwise.” 

“Sorry.” Jeno grinned, feeling Renjun’s breath tickle his face as he came closer and placed a quick unsuspecting kiss on the tip of his nose and retracted again. 

“What was that for?” 

“No reason”, Renjun said, and Jeno heard him unscrew the eyeliner tube again. “I just wanted to kiss you.” 

Once Renjun had rolled off him, Jeno stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the lines over the lids of his eyes that matched Renjun’s pretty ones. Renjun’s lines were neat and subtle, the lines of an artist at work, not messy and inconsistent like his own had been all those years ago. 

“Do you think it’s alright?”, Jeno asked cautiously, touching the small line with his fingertip. 

“You look hot”, Renjun replied. 

Jeno was instantly flustered, and he swiped his wallet and keys off the table top, stuffing them awkwardly into his pockets. “I’ll go with it.” He shoved his hands into his jacket following the keys and the wallet. “Anyway, shall we go or we’ll be late.” 

Downstairs, Jeno’s parents were watching the television, but somehow, they still noticed the creaking of the floorboards on the stairs. They were both already in their night clothes with the lights turned down low, their routine, they’d usually sit in front of the television each night for hours before they fell asleep watching whatever it had to offer. Behind them now, it crackled with the sound of static, broadcasting a nature documentary with footage of a lion roaming a savanna somewhere on the other side of the world. 

“Are you two boys off now?”, Jeno heard his mother say. He stopped abruptly in the door frame with Renjun beside him. 

The appearance of Renjun back in the house had not gone unnoticed by Jeno’s parents, and although she had not said it directly, Jeno could tell that his mother was glad. He could also tell that his father was a lot less thrilled, even more so when he had told them he was attending Donghyuck’s party. It had been met by a chorus of _‘who is Donghyuck?’_ Ironically, Jeno thought that Donghyuck was the sort of person that his father would like, confident and smart and sort of sophisticated, but he didn’t bother to tell him that. He wouldn’t have listened anyway. 

“We’re just leaving.” 

“Have fun”, his mother began, adding, “and stay safe.” 

“Don’t be back too late”, his father cut in. 

Jeno saw his mother turn towards them and squint as she examined Jeno’s face closely. “What’s all that around your eyes?” 

Renjun tugged on Jeno’s sleeve, pulling him towards the door and opening it. “Goodbye Mrs Lee”, he called out. 

“Goodbye”, she called back cheerily, but Jeno hardly heard it as he was dragged outside to the fresh evening air. He looked at Renjun, astounded, before letting out a short laugh, shaking his head and stuffing his hands back into his pockets. 

“Lovely”, Renjun deadpanned, breathing out cloudy air under the glowing porch lights. 

“What?” 

“Your father detests me.” Renjun took a few steps forward onto the pavement. 

“He doesn’t”, Jeno insisted, although even he could not sound confident in his own statement. “He just thinks that your friendship is a bad influence.” 

_“My friendship?”_ , Renjun scoffed. 

“Yeah.” 

“Pfft.” 

“I know.” 

The route they took to Donghyuck’s house consisted of pathways that wound through the dark estates. They were ugly run down high rise apartment blocks made of concrete. Jeno trudged along the pavements of the desolate roads, the aroma of dust and mud clogging the air. As the city centre emerged, the buildings became taller, modern offices and shopping malls. 

They passed a pub with a group of middle aged men sat outside it on wooden benches. They sneered, jeering and throwing insults at Renjun and Jeno as they walked past them, clearly inebriated beyond belief as one of them slammed a pint of lager down on the table and it sloshed over the edge of the glass, soaking the wood. Jeno pulled his jacket tightly around himself, wishing that he had driven. 

_“Fucking losers”_ , Renjun hissed, kicking stones into the road. His face softened as he looked up at Jeno. 

It was a funny feeling, how peculiar unspoken sentiments were. They were new feelings for Jeno, the feeling of complete safety when he was with Renjun, and the sense that Renjun felt completely safe beside him. 

By the time they reached the gates of Donghyuck’s house, it had taken them a total of forty five minutes to complete the journey. The place was filled with people in flashy outfits and expensive suits once again, a whole swarm of them shouting and squealing as they ran to the entrance. Renjun glided up the marble steps with ease. For a moment Jeno worried that he would not fit in again, but Renjun turned to him, beckoning him up with an eager hand and a wide smile. 

This party was even larger, and even more extravagant than the first one had been. All the rooms in the house were opened up, and people wandered freely in and out of them with drinks in red plastic cups, howling with laughter. They ran through to the main hall, bombarded by the sound of animated chatter. 

This time, the chaos and the giddy darkness was strangely enticing. The vibrations from the music through the floor made Jeno’s skin tingle and the hairs on his arms stand on end. The room was decorated with streams of gold foil paper. Somehow, one had got caught in the glass chandelier and was hanging lifelessly from it, giving the room a warm golden glow as the light from the bulbs reflected off of it. The tables were lined with food, and the sideboards with glass bottles of various unnaturally coloured alcopops and spirits. They got drinks, Jeno’s a classic mixture of coke and vodka, and Renjun’s an unnatural concoction, the shade of cherry. It tinted his tongue red. Jeno took his hand and they moved in time to the beat of the electronic music. 

It didn’t take them long to notice Donghyuck in the corner of the room. He couldn’t have been missed, standing there in a pale yellow shirt and black trousers rolled up at the ankles. The shirt he wore was loose at the collar, the jade green tie that Jeno guessed had once been there, knotted messily around his head, dangling down one side and touching his shoulder. He swayed to the beat of the music by himself with his eyes shut, like he was having the time of his life. 

“Don’t make eye contact”, Renjun hissed as he tried to dart behind Jeno. 

Jeno pulled him out again. “Why not?” 

“He’ll gloat about it.” 

“What?” 

“Us.” 

It was too late. Donghyuck had clocked on to them and was moving through the crowd towards his targets. He stumbled but was still grinning as he stopped occasionally to close his eyes and tap his foot to the beat of the song, knowing perfectly well that Jeno and Renjun were both watching him. 

“What’s this, Huang?”, Donghyuck started, swaying flamboyantly and then steadying himself with a hand on Jeno’s shoulder. _“What. Is. This?”_ He kept hold of Jeno’s shoulder and squeezed. 

“I told you”, Renjun directed at Jeno, huffing and making his hair fly up momentarily then settle again. He turned to Donghyuck and raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“I knew it”, Donghyuck said smugly. The tie was slipping down his forehead into his eyes. He pushed it up again with his free hand. 

“What?”, Renjun repeated stubbornly, folding his arms. 

“You two.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Come on, Huang.” Donghyuck swayed, taking Jeno with him. 

“I—“ 

“Don’t try to deny it”, Donghyuck smirked. “I know you. I know when you’re in love, and I know when you’re not.” 

“Oh, alright”, Renjun sighed. “Fine.” 

Donghyuck let go of Jeno. “You’re a lucky man, Jeno.” He walked slowly to Renjun, leaning in to whisper something into his ear. There was a drawn out pause before Renjun rolled his eyes and scoffed, slapping Donghyuck’s hand away from his ear, letting out a giggle and nodding. 

“Interesting”, Donghyuck mused, and wandered off towards a table of drinks. 

“What did he ask?” Jeno frowned like he had missed out on some big secret, moving to stand back beside Renjun. 

Renjun snorted. “I’m not telling you that. It’d inflate your ego far too much.” He glanced behind him at Donghyuck. “That man asks too many questions for his own good.” He made a grab for Jeno’s empty cup. “Refill?” 

A shot of throat-burning tequila later, Jeno found that the stench of alcohol filling his nose was unpleasant, and the music was louder than his own thoughts were. It was him that wandered off this time, pushing past the crowds with a sense of ease as he staggered calmly into another one of the rooms down the corridor, leaving Renjun screaming song lyrics with Donghyuck in the main hall. 

The room was smaller, and quieter, the music playing softly from a record player in the corner. Jeno collapsed on a couch, next to a couple that were making out messily, her hair caught in his glasses. He tried to ignore them as he slid off his jacket and slung it on the arm of the couch, leaning back and shutting his eyes with the world spinning a little faster than usual. 

“Jeno?” 

The voice was soft and gentle. Jeno opened his eyes and the hazy world came tumbling into focus. The familiar face and the blond hair that curled into ringlets, this time wearing a short pale blue dress with thin straps. Ruth smiled weakly at him, her handbag clasped awkwardly between her hands as she lowered her gaze to the floor. 

Jeno sat up straight. “Ruth?” 

“Hi.” She looked up hesitantly. “How’ve you been?” 

“Not bad”, Jeno answered. _I’ve found the boy of my dreams_ , he wanted to say, so at least someone would know, but he thought already that he had been too harsh on her during their last encounter. She stood still in front of him, avoiding eye contact, perhaps out of embarrassment as she stared at a spot on the beige carpet. “You can sit down you know?” He nodded to the space beside him. The room had emptied out a lot, the couple that had been there had stumbled out with their mouths still attached half an hour ago, probably to go and find one of the bedrooms. 

“Oh no, Jeno, it’s alright.” Ruth raised her hand in protest, her ringlets bouncing. “You don’t have to be kind to me.” 

“Really, it’s fine”, Jeno insisted. 

Ruth hesitated for a second longer, dropping down next to Jeno and sighing. “Thanks.” 

“It’s busier here tonight”, Jeno commented to fill the awkward silence. 

Elbow resting on her knee, and her cheek pressed into her palm, Ruth glanced at him and pouted. “Unbearable if you asked me”, she laughed. 

“Not enjoying yourself?” 

“No, not really.” 

There was a crashing sound as the door swung open and hit the plastered wall loudly, and just like that, the boy of Jeno’s dreams came bounding towards him without warning. His knees knocked the arm of the couch as he stopped in front of Jeno. 

“There you are”, he shouted, and bent down to plant a kiss on one of his cheeks. 

Jeno flushed bright red instantly, turning quickly to Ruth. Her eyes were wide as she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. 

“Who’s this?” 

“This is Ruth”, Jeno stuttered, he wasn’t exactly sure _who_ she was, in fact, they hardly knew anything about each other. “She’s—uh—a friend.” 

“Hi Ruth!” Renjun grinned, waving dramatically. He placed a hand on the back of Jeno’s neck, not so discreetly, and rubbed small circles into his nape. Jeno shivered at the feeling, his spine tingling. “I just came to see if you were alright.” 

“I’m alright”, Jeno smiled, sensing Ruth watching them. 

“Good”, Renjun replied, and gave a final pat to his shoulder. “I’ve got to go, I left Donghyuck holding my drink. I’ll come back later.” 

With that he staggered out, leaving Jeno in a room filled only with the sound of the ghostly record player and the short breaths of a stunned girl beside him. He dared a look at Ruth, who was fiddling with her fingers in her lap. 

“You’ve got a little bit of—” She gestured to her own cheek, “pink— on your face.” Jeno rubbed his cheek in the place Renjun’s lips had been, feeling the remains of the sticky strawberry chapstick he had left behind. “Uh—yeah”, she stuttered. “Are you two—?” 

“He’s drunk”, Jeno said nervously. 

Ruth nodded slowly. “But are you two…”, she trailed off. 

“Uh—yeah.” 

“Oh.” She looked up. “It’s alright. I didn’t know you were…” 

“Gay?” Jeno said weakly. “Yeah.” 

Ruth smiled. Jeno guessed it was a comforting gesture, as it was accompanied by another soft, “it’s alright.” 

“There’s just people”, Jeno said, “they expect me to end up with a _nice girl_ ”, he laughed, “someone just like you, Ruth.” 

“Who?” 

“My parents.” Jeno felt his stomach tighten and twist at the mention of them, suddenly all too aware of his surroundings. 

“They don’t know?” 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry”, she said sympathetically, clasping her handbag to her chest and inhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. It isn’t my place.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” 

“I’ll—get us some drinks.” Ruth jumped up quickly from the couch, disappearing out of the room with her dress swaying as she ran on her tiptoes lightly. 

When she returned, she was clutching two cider bottles in her hand. She gave one to Jeno, the glass freezing and slippery between his fingers as he sipped at the sparkling liquid, it tingled the back of his throat and made him jolt involuntarily. Relaxing again, he rested his arm on the edge of the couch over his jacket. 

“What about you then?”, he asked, gripping the bottle. “Have you found someone?” 

Ruth swigged from the bottle, peering up at him as she brought it away from her lips. “Uh—yeah”, she said shyly. “His name’s James. He’s at university, but he lives at home here. He’s coming in a few hours actually. He got caught up at a piano recital”, she laughed, “he’s sneaking out later. Funny, because my parents love him.” 

“Do you?” 

Ruth hesitated. “He’s nice, yeah.” 

“Only nice?” 

She brought the bottle to her lips again. “He’s not very dynamic. But hey, aren’t we all looking for the things we don’t have?” Raising her bottle, she tapped it gently to Jeno’s. It chimed softly. Her pink lipstick had worn off around the edges of her mouth and her ringlets had come loose. “Anyway”, she smiled, _“cheers.”_

Their glasses clinked together, and then they drank to love, and the new world. Jeno sensed that she was comfortable, that she had found a part of what she wanted but not all of it. He had a feeling she would look for it too, when she grew bored. 

Renjun joined them, bringing another round of drinks with him and chatting about Donghyuck’s hidden talent for tap dancing that he’d been showing off to everyone for the entire evening. All three of them were intoxicated, laughing at jokes that weren’t even funny, and dancing to pop songs they didn’t even know. The room grew quieter and quieter as time ticked on, until they were the only ones left in it, and at ten minutes past nine, a boy in a black suit and tie, with slicked back brown hair appeared in the room. From Ruth’s grin, Jeno guessed that it must have been James. She left with him, but not before she had turned back to smile thankfully at Jeno. 

“She was nice”, Renjun said once she had left. He folded one leg over the other. 

Jeno nodded, sipping from a fresh bottle of cider and feeling it rush through him. “She tried to kiss me last time.” 

“And did she have any luck?” 

Jeno scoffed. “I think you know the answer to that one.” 

After that, Jeno shuffled back on the couch, Renjun springing up to deliver his very own rendition of _Don’t You Want Me_ as it played from the record player, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty room. He stopped midway through, running up to the couch and pulling Jeno up by his hands. He gripped onto them as they danced, just like no one was watching, because they weren’t, they had all the time in the world. Renjun leant his head on Jeno’s shoulder as they swayed, and Jeno could feel his hair tickle his neck. 

There was a pause and the crackling sound of the needle scratching the disc as the song changed. It was slower than the last one had been, Jeno couldn’t name it off the top of his head, not when Renjun’s lips were so close to his and they were both dizzy from the effects of the drink. His mind chose that time to wander, all over the place. So close, like this, he could feel Renjun’s heartbeat, and his own, they were _alive_. They paid little attention to where they moved, spinning slowly. Perhaps that was what Renjun had meant when he had told him that he felt alive, because Jeno felt it too. 

His knees hit the back of the couch, and he dropped down, Renjun landing in his lap and not hesitating to press a small kiss to the corner of Jeno’s mouth. Jeno kissed him back, softly on the lips, lingering, but stopped suddenly and glanced towards the door. 

“What if someone comes in?” 

Renjun raised a shaky finger to Jeno’s lips. 

“You’re drunk again”, Jeno laughed. 

“Uh huh”, Renjun said hazily, slotting his mouth against Jeno’s. _“Kiss me”_ , he demanded. 

It was a request that Jeno could not deny, pressing his lips together with Renjun’s. “You taste like strawberries”, he murmured, wiping his tongue over Renjun’s bottom lip purposefully and grinning against Renjun’s mouth. 

The kisses were lazy, laced with alcohol, and they made Jeno dizzy. The album on the record player ended and the room was quieter now, the faint sound of muffled music coming from the main room, but they were so lost in each other that they didn’t even notice. Their bodies were intertwined, strawberries and alcohol mixing on their tongues. Renjun’s kisses trailed down Jeno’s neck, over his throat, biting as he sucked marks into it. He tracked back up to Jeno’s face, kissing his jaw, and his lips again. 

“What are your intentions?” Jeno breathed, hands moved to Renjun’s waist and resting languidly on his hip. He cocked an eyebrow and waited for the response. 

Renjun’s wet lips ghosted Jeno’s cheek lightly as he dragged them over the skin to his temple, pausing right beside his ear. Jeno could feel his soft, panting breath as he lingered there for a moment before he whispered quietly. His breath was hot and scorching to his tragus as his sugary lips formed the syllables of one word. _“Debauchery.”_

Jeno fell apart as quickly as he had tried to pull himself together. They stumbled through the crowds lingering in the hallways, fingers interlocked. No one was watching, too caught up in their own evening, as they disappeared up a flight of stairs. 

The corridor was empty, and so was the bathroom. Renjun reached behind him and kicked the door shut as he hit the wall. A strip of light glowed through the gap underneath as Jeno slid the bolt across with his free hand. Pulling his attention back to the softly lit features in front of him, he cupped his hands around Renjun’s face and guided their lips together, with even more vigour than when Renjun had been in his lap on the couch. The room was cramped, the kisses were messy and frenzied, even without the risk of being seen, they were desperate. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s shirt and pushed him up against the wall next to the basin, knocking a bottle of handwash crashing to the tiled floor. Jeno looked up and gasped at the sound and a new rush of adrenaline pulsed through him as Renjun pressed into him and slid a leg between his. 

Lips still attached to Jeno’s, Renjun’s fingers danced across his belt, fiddling with the buckle to make it fall open. Jeno broke contact and leaned his head back. Renjun’s cheeks were flushed, with wet lips swollen as he smirked sinfully, and rolled his hips onto Jeno’s thigh. It was more than he could handle and he groaned loudly, causing Renjun to laugh and snap a hand to Jeno’s mouth to muffle the noise. Biting softly on Renjun’s finger, he ran the stud in his tongue along its length in defiance and wrapped a hand around the back of Renjun’s neck to bring him in close again. He felt the hot breath tremble on his neck, and the building pressure in his jeans released skilfully as Renjun unfastened and tugged them loose. 

Threading his fingers in Renjun’s hair, he grabbed impulsively as a palm slid past his waistband, letting out a sharp hiss as he drew in the stale air through his teeth. Renjun hummed in satisfaction at the response and worked his hand harder until Jeno legs started to weaken. He grasped the porcelain basin beside him for support and leaned his head back, eyes closed. Gasping for air, his knuckles whitened as his senses erupted. With his eyes still squeezed shut, he felt lips crash against his own frantically and Renjun’s hand relinquish its hold, as he fell into Jeno’s arms and the two dropped to the floor. 

Jeno finally opened his eyes and looked down at Renjun, still nestled in his arms with his head on his shoulder. He stroked his fingertips along Renjun’s cheekbone. “Debauchery?” he teased. 

_“Debauchery”_ , Renjun smirked and reached up to kiss Jeno’s neck. 

\--

When the cab arrived to take them back to Jeno’s house, it was way past midnight. Too exhausted, and too tipsy, blissed out on each other, they did not get far on the walk before their feet had given up on them. They waited next to the red telephone box in a side road near Donghyuck’s house, Renjun snuggled into Jeno’s chest for warmth. 

Squinting at the glare from the headlights as the vehicle pulled up next to them, Jeno nodded them both into the backseat. Their hands slid together naturally in the darkness, pressed palms hidden between denim and faux leather whilst the driver fiddled with the dial on the radio. The cab pulled away and the sallow streetlights blurred into a continuous yellow glow. Jeno directed the driver, who swerved the car violently around potholes in the road. Gripping Renjun’s hand tighter out of instinct, their bodies were thrown together and their shoulders collided, only letting go of each other once they were standing on the pavement outside Jeno’s house. 

The keys jangled as Jeno scratched the metal plate around the lock, shaky fingers lacking precision as they jittered about in the darkness. 

“Come here”, Renjun laughed, slurring slightly and making a grab for the keys. He slotted them into the lock perfectly and shoved open the door. 

_“Quietly”_ , Jeno hissed. _“We’ll wake them up.”_

It reminded him of when he had snuck Renjun into his house in the middle of the night. The air inside the house was much warmer than the chill outside and Jeno slid off his jacket and hung it up, careful not to make too much noise. His shoes were a trickier task, the clunky boots crashing against the wooden floorboards. 

_“Quietly”_ , Renjun whispered teasingly, bringing a finger to his own lips. 

They tiptoed to the lounge and shut the door, creeping through to the kitchen. Jeno went to the fridge first, Renjun following and tucking his chin over his shoulder to peer inside. 

“Drink?”, Jeno asked. 

Renjun hesitated. “Just water.” 

Jeno gathered two glasses from the cupboard above the stove and filled them with water from the fridge, taking a sip. His head was still spinning, but the fluid eased it, the world coming back into focus more. He glanced at the clock, _ten minutes past two_. 

“Should we sleep?” 

Renjun took the glass off the counter and carried it through to the lounge, Jeno watching as he dived down onto the couch. _“Soon.”_

Jeno sat beside him with his legs crossed and Renjun nestled against him. “Tired?” 

“Yeah.” Renjun nodded, “but I don’t want to sleep yet”, he whined. His head fell onto Jeno’s thigh so he lay across the couch, hair splayed out over Jeno’s lap. He rubbed his cheek against the fabric of his jeans, patting his knee. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here.” 

Jeno scoffed. “Absolutely not.” He carded his fingers lazily through Renjun’s hair as he pointed to the mantel piece above the fireplace. 

_“It’s you!”_ Renjun pointed to a silver photo frame propped up against the wall. The picture was of a six year old Jeno, wearing a tie and a toothy smile. _“Baby Jen.”_

Jeno’s fingers paused. “Jen?” 

Renjun peered up at him. “New nickname?” 

“I like it. Maybe I’ll call you Jun.” 

Renjun shook his head. “It’s Renjun”, he stated. “Or spaceman. That’s all.” 

Jeno grinned. “So, you do like spaceman?” 

“Maybe.” 

Jeno smiled. “Okay then, spaceman it is.” He looked up at the child version of himself. “That was me at school, back in Seoul. I hated that stupid tie.” 

Jeno saw Renjun inspect the rest of the frames around it, one of his mother and father on their wedding day. Tinted sepia, it showed the imprint of a joyous day stained with lines of age and water marks. He knew that his mother was wearing a white dress beaded with tiny gemstones sewn into it and a bouquet of pink peonies, his father in a black suit and tie, smiling beside her. Jeno heard Renjun’s breathing stutter as he scanned over the one next to that, a faded photograph of Jeno, sitting between his mother and father, grinning. 

“You look so happy”, Renjun said. 

Jeno hummed, running his fingers through Renjun’s hair again repeatedly. He wondered if Renjun was thinking whether his own life could be so picture perfect, whether both their lives could, if the world was just enough to grant them a piece of their own happiness. Renjun’s eyes had grown heavy and tired, in repose. His hair was knotty, Jeno smoothing it out with his fingers gradually. His eyelids fluttered open and closed, liner now smudged below his bottom lid, but still Jeno was drawn to the soft and tired features. 

“What?”, Renjun laughed. The tired eyes turned crescent shaped as he smiled. 

“You look pretty”, Jeno replied, stroking his temple softly. 

He found himself in his own world, never mind the alcohol, their own world, a point somewhere between a dream and reality, the lines were mixed up and tangled as Renjun nuzzled against him. But the world was crueller than it was kind. Jeno wished it would pity him for just a moment, so he could have more times like this. 

He let go of Renjun’s hair, and it tumbled down to the edge of his brows as he suddenly jolted up straight. Jeno’s eyes followed Renjun’s gaze and his muscles tensed. 

He wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, or when the door to the lounge had been pulled wide open. Her lips were pressed together. 

Jeno’s mouth dried up too quickly. 

“Wait—" 

The door closed shut again. It didn’t slam, and his mother disappeared. Jeno stayed frozen on the couch, hearing Renjun’s short breaths beside his ringing ears. 

_“Shit”_ , Jeno hissed, throwing his head back onto the couch. 

“Jeno—” 

“It’s fine.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault.” 

The encounter sent Jeno sobering up, alert and aware as they stepped up to his attic room. He pulled the ladder out from below them, heaving it into his room and sighing. Renjun changed silently into a clean t-shirt and climbed into the bed with Jeno, face to face with him. He shut his eyes and exhaled, opening them slowly as he kissed Jeno’s lips softly. 

“What happens now?”, he asked. 

“I suspect she’ll tell my father”, Jeno said blankly. “And then… well, I don’t know.” 

It took Jeno a long time to fall asleep that night as he tried to make sense of all the thoughts in his head. 

\--

He had woken up in the morning with Renjun beside him. He felt like shit, and it was not just from the throbbing alcohol induced headache. They had tried to sneak out of the house unnoticed, and got as far as the door, managing to throw on their jackets. It was the handle that had betrayed them, creaking loudly as Renjun pushed down on it. 

“Where are you going?”, his mother called from the kitchen. Her voice was its usual pitch, and soft. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.” There was a pause before she spoke again. “Renjun? You can stay too, I’ve laid an extra place.” 

Jeno looked helplessly at Renjun. His eyes offered the same helpless expression, hair unbrushed and tangled from the previous night, and eyes red and bloodshot like he had lost sleep. Jeno imagined he must have looked the same himself. The pungent stench of bitter coffee wafted through the air. 

Quickly, Jeno did up his jacket all the way to cover the marks on his neck. They had been his second reminder of the night, after waking up beside Renjun, of course. He’d spotted them in the bathroom mirror, deep purple patches. They decorated his skin like little pieces of artwork. 

His mother smiled jovially as they sat at the table, his father beside her. Any remaining appetite he had drained away. He did not know if she had told his father about what she had seen. She was her usual self and so was he. Stoic and icy, his face as set in stone as he was set in his ways. Jeno wondered how many years it had been like that, _who was counting?_ The sentiment was rather dire. The shell of the man in the faded wedding photograph. 

Renjun swivelled out of his jacket, draping it on the back of the wooden chair. The metal zipper strummed against it and rung thickly through the dense air. Jeno kept his on, zipped tight around his chin. 

“Thanks Mrs Lee”, Renjun said as she tipped a heap of fried eggs out from a pan onto his plate. They sizzled briefly, the room falling silent again. Jeno watched as Renjun dragged a knife and fork off the table top, scraping it clumsily over his plate. 

“Aren’t you hot, Jeno?” His mother placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want to take that off?” 

Jeno locked stares with Renjun for a second. Behind their calm façade, his eyes showed unease. He shook his head. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re hungover”, his father said, looking frosty and cold. He took the coffee pot off the top and poured it, steam clouding upwards. His knuckles were as white as the alabaster coffee cup in his hand. 

“He’s just having fun. He’s young, and he’s—” 

“I know what he is.” His father interrupted his mother with words of venom, silencing the room with a slam of his fist to the table top. She snapped her mouth shut, her face pale as wax, and contorted with worry. 

His father stood up and left the room. 

\--

“Well, shit.” 

“Well, shit, indeed.” 

Renjun snatched the warm cigarette from between Jeno’s chapped and bitten lips, dragging on it. Streams of smoke drifted from his mouth as he placed it back in Jeno’s. 

“What did she say?” 

“Not a lot.” Jeno clasped the limp cigarette. 

He remembered the day of the breakfast vividly, how he had slipped away to the garage after his father had stormed out of the room like a toddler throwing a tantrum. No one in the house had spoken to him until the evening. His mother had called up to his room, and he had numbly let her inside. She had carried a cup of steaming tea, something fruity and citrus flavoured. All the time when Jeno was a child, if something had happened at school, or there was something she wanted to talk about, she would take hot chocolate to his room, and talk to him. Now it was hot tea, and _he knew that she knew_. She sat on the edge of his bed, and touched his arm gently, like he were a child again. 

“He’s a nice boy”, she had said quietly, and moved the cup between his freezing fingers. “I like him.” 

Jeno could not decipher the expression in his mother’s eyes, it was somewhere between despair, and somewhere close to pity, but it all amounted to a vacuous glassy look. He had always believed that she loved him unconditionally, perhaps it was that stopping her from showing the emotions, he meant too much to her. 

Jeno flicked his cigarette. “She doesn’t know what to say”, he said. “But we’re talking about it.” 

“And your father?” 

“I don’t know. He hasn’t really spoken to me, not about any of that.” 

Renjun slid his fingers around Jeno’s unoccupied hand. They rested on the rough brick, Jeno feeling it scratch him like sandpaper as it contrasted with the softness of Renjun’s hand. 

A passer-by turned onto the street, feet splashing in the puddles of dirty water collected in pot holes. Jeno snapped his hand away, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth instead and blowing smoke. When it disappeared the stranger had already walked past them without even as much as a glance. He heard Renjun sigh. 

“This is how it is.” He brushed a piece of dirt off the wall. “Hiding away in the shadows from everyone.” 

“The world’s changing”, Jeno said. 

“Well then it needs to change quicker.” Renjun tucked his hand back into his pocket. “Yeah, maybe we’ll go to space, and maybe we’ll have flying cars or whatever, but it’s the little things that need to change. I can’t even hold your hand without being stared at.” 

Jeno thought it cruel, how he had just discovered love, and had to hide it from the world. 

\--

Two more months of living in the house had driven the divide between Jeno and his parents almost as far as it could go before snapping. There were arguments, and shouting, some involving Jeno, and others just between his parents. His father was cold, and awkward, if Renjun was in the room with Jeno, he didn’t want to be there. Jeno often looked around his attic room, he could picture his childhood and his adolescence. The walls had not seemed so grey when he was only a boy, and they had not caged him in. Now, they were sullen and sunken, like the bones of a cold skeleton. 

When he put together his wages with Renjun’s, they could scrape enough together for the monthly rent, because anywhere was better than where they were. They were almost twenty one, it seemed like the easiest option. It didn’t feel a lot like commitment, it felt like the world was theirs. 

The apartment was on the other side of town, above a pub on a side road. Painted on the walls, _The Hawley Arms_ was written, and their rooms were above that. The landlords were a husband and wife, the owners of the pub, and they lived below them in the rooms attached to the back. It was furnished, and meant for university students, so the lounge had been converted into another bedroom. 

The day they had moved in had been a dry October morning, and Jeno had driven the car around the back of the pub. The place looked derelict, stuffed with broken tables, and stacked barrels. A dark metal staircase lead up to the door, and they climbed it repeatedly with armfuls of cardboard boxes. 

“Did you have to bring your _entire_ record collection?” Renjun heaved a box up the old stairs. 

“Yes, I did”, Jeno huffed, following him. 

Trips up and down, boxes and boxes, labelled _lounge, kitchen, bathroom or bedroom_ on sticky labels. The bunch of keys were rusted, and the apartment was covered in layers of dust that made it look like an old, abandoned relic. The lounge was piled to the ceiling with boxes, and Renjun was staring at the patches of damp on the wall, ugly patches visible through old peeling floral wallpaper. His face had turned serious, pouty lips still shiny and pretty. 

“Did we make the right choice, Jen?”, he asked quietly. 

Jeno knew it had been a hasty, unplanned decision, moving in with Renjun, living together with the boy of his dreams. But there were no promises of tomorrow, or promises of stability, it wasn’t asphyxiating. For Jeno it was enough to have Renjun the way that he did, and for Renjun to want him too. 

He stepped over a cardboard box to come close to Renjun and drape an arm around his shoulder. “Hey”, he said with a small smile. “I couldn’t think of anyone else that I’d rather share a shitty apartment with.” 

That first night, Jeno had laid beside Renjun on the single bed, that doubled as a makeshift couch, in their lounge, surrounded by the boxes of their unpacked home. There wasn’t a lot of protection from the harsh autumn air that streamed past the loose window seal and blew like a gale through the apartment. It made him hold Renjun tighter in their perfect, imperfect, piece of paradise, the two of them a locked away secret as they shared the bed meant for one. The gutter itself, but it had the best view of the stars. 

Then, they had real responsibilities to think about, like rent and water bills, and a whole city to negotiate. It was the most meaningful he had found his life despite the fact that it had no direction. When he wasn’t working in the day times, Jeno watched the trains go past over the bridge next to the pub, the vibrations shaking the room. Or he’d stare at the crows perched on the telephone wires. Sometimes he’d watch Renjun, with a book in his lap from the shelf bedside the make shift couch. 

At night, they would talk for hours, and Jeno would drink up every word from Renjun’s lips like it was fine wine. They could kiss for hours, he kissed Renjun in their dingy apartment and the world was exciting again. Kissing Renjun was his favourite pastime. They’d listen to records in the dark, and fool around in the bedroom to the sound, as the smell of hops and ale came through the open window. Renjun’s head would be pressed into his sweaty shoulder, biting down on the flesh to suppress his gasps in fear of the paper thin walls. Strewn sheets and crumpled pillowcases, a battle of their minds as well as their bodies. Renjun knew how to work him with his artist’s hands, the slide of his soft delicate fingers, with all the precision of a blooming professional. But he seemed to bask in Jeno’s blistered fingers and unrefined touch too and many nights would end with the taste of tobacco and strawberries on their tongues. 

Renjun was passing his time reading again. He was on the bed beside a pile of shabby books, one resting on his knees, guided by a flickering lamp light that cast the shape of his shadow onto the wall. His cheeks were painted like roses and he was skimming the pages of the little book with his fingers. Jeno recognised it. 

“You’re reading that again”, he said, sitting beside him. 

“Yeah.” 

_“Jonathan Livingston Seagull.”_

“That’s the one.” 

Renjun held the book up, and Jeno saw the page he had stopped on. In the corner, spanned the image of a seagull, its flight feathers curved out, pinions stretched. It looked like it could fly right off the page into the apartment. He read a snippet of the words. 

_Life is the unknown and the unknowable, except that we are put in this world to stay alive as long as we possibly can but now we have a reason to live, to learn, to discover, to be free._

“Is it all like that? You never did tell me what any of it meant.” 

“It means everything can be more than what it seems to be. I suppose it’s about reaching potential.” 

Jeno thought that his life was exactly as it seemed. All that it had been, and what it was now. He could tell it like any other story. Perhaps the book in Renjun’s lap was a book for dreamers, perhaps it was for anybody. He and Renjun, in their decaying apartment, more alive than they had ever been, but stuck somewhere between the dreamers’ end of London and the rest of the world, waiting. All of the birds Renjun surrounded himself with comprised his dreams in a single image. Jeno could tell the book was loved, the pages were well thumbed from rereads and the spine was creased right through the middle. The image of the seagull stayed etched into his thoughts as Renjun snapped it shut and threw it back onto the pile. 

Jeno stood up and walked to the desk, pulling open a stiff drawer. He knew where Renjun kept them. The seagull. The seagull was everything. It was freedom, and it was life, and a whole lot of dreams and first dates, the one that Jeno had watched Renjun draw so skilfully. Jeno plucked the sketchpad out from the bottom of the drawer. It had been so long since he had thought about it but now it seemed like the only choice ever. The seagull was formed from the smudges of graphite Renjun had pressed to the paper so carefully. He sat on the bed and placed the pad into Renjun’s lap. 

“This”, he said. The bird’s wings looked like they were flapping under the flickering lamp light. “I want this.” 

Renjun seemed to understand because his breathing stuttered. He traced a finger over one wing. All he could manage was a choked, _“Jeno.”_

“When you qualify”, Jeno began again, surer. “I want you do this tattoo, on me.” Renjun’s thumb brushed its beak, leaving smoky grey smudges on his skin. 

“You want _me_ to do it?” 

“Yes.” 

Renjun took Jeno’s wrist, wiping his thumb gently against it. Some of the grey from the seagull smudged onto the skin, like he was marking him. The sketch done by his lover, drawn into his skin by the very same hands. It made Jeno shudder. The fingers walked up Jeno’s arm, rubbing slowly into the flesh, like Renjun were testing out where best the tattoo would fit. He crawled from his wrist, up past his forearm, the touch so light that it tickled. 

The hand dipped below the collar of Jeno’s shirt. He wondered if the graphite had already smudged off completely. Renjun played with his collarbone, caressing it with his fingers. 

“There”, Jeno breathed. 

Renjun’s fingers stopped moving. _“There?”_ He rubbed over the sensitive spot just below Jeno’s collarbone again. “That’ll hurt. You don’t know your pain tolerance yet.” 

“That’s where I want it.” 

Renjun slipped his fingers out of Jeno’s shirt, replacing them with a soft kiss from his lips against his collarbone instead. 

\--

One month later, Renjun qualified as a tattoo artist. No more grapefruit stencilling, it was flesh now. They hung his certificate on an old nail sticking out of the wall. It covered it nicely, and it felt like something real, something to hide the cracks that their dreams had, some way out of the gutter towards the stars. 

Jeno had dreamt about it more times than he could remember, and he had seen Renjun practising so many more. Nothing quite prepared him for the feeling of being back in the tattoo parlour where everything had started. It was dark outside, except from the harsh fluorescent spotlight over his chest. Somewhere, it felt like he had been building up to this moment since the day that he first met Renjun, and he had. Without his own silly little dreams, he never would have met him. 

Jeno was reclined in one of the velvet chairs in the back of the parlour. He unbuttoned his shirt, one, two, three of the buttons, enough for it to slip away from his shoulder. Renjun pulled it down the rest of the way, exposing his collarbone to the cool air as he sat on the stool beside him. He had not said much, completely focused on the task, there was no room for distraction. It was a side of Renjun that Jeno did not see often, he wondered where the dreamer had gone, the glassy look replaced by harsh lines. 

The seagull was outlined in black, an impression of the real ink, traced with stencils by Renjun’s hand, the hand that had worked to clean the area with cold rubbing alcohol and smoothed the skin. He was laying out equipment at the side silently. His movements were meticulous, as if he had been preparing his whole life for this, steady breaths, and a steady hand, almost like he wasn’t about to carve a piece of forever into Jeno’s skin. 

“You ready?” 

Jeno nodded, swallowing at the feeling of Renjun’s light touch through the soft latex glove. It was nothing like when his fingertips had danced over the bone. It was reserved, but still a tender touch, the tenderest touch that Renjun could apply with the invisible watchful eyes of the tattoo parlour. 

The first press into his skin stung like hot, hot fire, burning him from the inside out. But then everything about Renjun was like fire, it seemed only fitting, the scorching sensation. He watched the flames in Renjun’s eyes instead, hotter than any fire that the pain could ignite, a flame that poured itself into the piercing touches. Renjun dragged the tattoo gun back and forth and Jeno bit his lip. His eyes were watering, blurring Renjun out of focus as wet tears from the pain fell down his face involuntarily and streaked it. 

Renjun stopped, the fire still simmering on Jeno’s skin. “Slow and deep breaths”, he said. “Don’t try to hold them in.” He spared a glance at Jeno’s tear stained face, and Jeno saw his eyes flooded with guilt as they slid shut and opened again. If they had been back in their apartment, he was sure he would have wiped the tears away with a gentle finger, but he could not. 

The pain lessened as his skin adjusted in the hours that followed. Jeno sat completely still, watching Renjun’s deep concentration pour into the lines of the tattoo. Renjun covered his shoulder with gauze using soft, nimble fingers that had felt like fire before. Now that Jeno could move, he slowly put a hand on Renjun’s chest, right beside his heart, and Renjun clenched his jaw shut, a piece of gauze falling to the floor as he let it slide out of his hand. He unwound another strip of gauze and tried again to place it over Jeno’s flaming skin. 

“You’re shaking”, Jeno said quietly. 

“I was terrified”, Renjun replied, Jeno’s fingers slipping away as he added tape to the dressing to keep it firmly in place. 

“I never would have known that.” 

Later, in the safety of their apartment, Renjun applied all the gentleness that he couldn’t have done under the harsh parlour lights. The bathroom was just wide enough for both of them to fit in, and the lightbulb flickered intermittently. 

Jeno sat on the edge of the bathtub, with his palms pressed to the cold enamel, a perfect view of his body in the mirror opposite above the sink. The patch of skin that burned, tender and sore, was still covered by the dressing. His shirt was open all the way down to the last button and his hair hung limply, unkempt, the dark roots growing from underneath the burgundy. 

Lifting his hand to the edge of the tape, Renjun peeled it back slowly. It stung and his fingers were cold. Jeno winced, but this time Renjun could run his fingers gently through his hair to distract him as he continued. The gauze peeled away, revealing the fragile skin underneath. 

It was red and sore but exquisitely inked and defined. Below the bone, the tenderest black tip of the seagull was unveiled. The delicate shape of it gleamed under the dingy bathroom lighting, wings outstretched, showing every intricate detail Renjun’s fingers had applied, with shades of blue behind it, spanning the length of his collarbone. 

Renjun stared at the place just beneath the bone, like it was the first time that he had stopped to admire his own work. He untangled his fingers from Jeno’s hair. “I’m going to wash it now.” 

Jeno watched as he filled the basin with steaming water, taking a clean face cloth off a stack on the shelf and submerging it. Bringing it out, he pressed it gently to Jeno’s skin. He winced. 

Renjun laughed softly. “You big baby.” He kissed Jeno’s lips, patting softly with the cloth again. “The worst part’s over. If this were anyone else, they’d be doing it themselves.” 

“I get special privileges?” Jeno managed a cheeky grin and raised an eyebrow at Renjun. He sucked in breath through his teeth again, hissing as Renjun continued to run the cloth over a tender patch of the new ink. 

“You get special privileges.” Renjun placed the cloth on the radiator, taking a dry one and wiping the excess water droplets from below Jeno’s collarbone. 

Jeno looked in the mirror, at the bold tattoo, seeing Renjun staring at it too. It was strange, Renjun usually treated his own tattoos like they were nothing unusual, they had been there for so long they were a part of him. It fascinated Jeno, and it seemed to fascinate Renjun too then, the expanse of skin that had been unmarked before, blooming with flecks of colour and hot ink. The stain of Renjun’s artistry on his body, woven into him by dainty hands. It was captivating. The seagull solitary on his skin, perhaps he would garner more one day, but for now he was content. 

“You’re art, Jeno.” 

The tattoo glittered and gleamed, still tender, still not complete, but beautiful. “This is your work”, Jeno replied. 

Renjun ran a finger along his other collarbone and shook his head. “Everything about you”, he said. “I think it’s art.” 

Jeno took his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers softly, nodding down to the tattoo. “I love it, thank you.” 

That night was like their first time ever, like two new lovers desperate to explore each other. Jeno’s skin was sore, but he let it burn for Renjun, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Slowly and softly, Jeno stroked up his sternum, and his back, where a few delicate moles were scattered. They looked like the points on a map, he kissed each one, and Renjun placed his own kisses over Jeno’s face, the places where the tear trails had been, like he could finally wipe them away with the flutter of his eyelashes against Jeno’s cheeks. Renjun dug his nails into Jeno’s back like they were the sharp needles of a tattoo gun, engraving their own new patterns into the skin with precision. Tactile touches, warm bodies and a piece of forever. It felt like being alive, of knowing it for sure. 

\--

The snow pattered on the roof, it had been falling for hours. Renjun was loading a bag with coats and blankets. He had told Jeno that he adored the snow that the winter had brought and spent the days of December beside the windows, watching it fall and collect on the frost painted roof, or sketching the robins on the frozen tree branches. The cold days had drawn them to the end of the year, and they had made the best of what they had in the shabby apartment, with electric heaters and duvet days. 

The winter months had cooled everything down. Jeno’s searing collarbone stopped being on fire. The tattoo now completely healed. Jeno could run his fingertips over it whenever he wanted to, so could Renjun. It was how he knew that he was proud of the art that he had created, because sometimes Renjun would stop, when they were lying in bed at night, or in the hazy early mornings, and he would trace along the tattoo, a soft trail and smile, in a dream somewhere again. 

This particular night, Renjun came bounding through the room, leaping onto Jeno’s back. He stumbled but caught him, holding both of his thighs to keep him upright. “How do you have so much energy at eleven at night?” 

Playing with the ends of Jeno’s hair, Renjun’s sleeves tickled his chin. “I’m just looking forward to it”, he gushed, the sound muffled as he buried his face in the strands. 

“Where to?” Jeno hoisted Renjun up and spun them both around, Renjun grasping tighter at his shoulders as the apartment blurred. 

“The stars!” Renjun pointed at the damp ceiling and laughed. 

“Alright spaceman.” Jeno flung Renjun onto the bed and he shrieked as he landed on his back. His leather jacket almost swallowing him up entirely. “I think that might require something a little more extravagant than a piggy back ride.” 

Renjun rolled onto his stomach and grinned. “Primrose Hill will do just fine,” he said. “One last thing.” He rolled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor and then sprinting to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard on the wall, he reached up and pulled out a dark green bottle. Jeno squinted as he held it up to the light, then lifted a glass out from a cupboard, pouring the liquid. He waltzed playfully towards Jeno, holding the glass delicately by the stem. 

“Red wine?” 

Renjun nodded, sipping from the wineglass. “I think it’s French. _Château Margaux._ ” He swallowed, his lips stained red around the edges. 

“And where did you get that from?” 

“The shop at the end of the road”, Renjun huffed. “It’s the last day of nineteen eighty five, we’ve got to celebrate it somehow”, he protested. “Sophistication.” Renjun swirled the liquid. “Elegance, class”, he dipped his finger into it. It collected on the tip and coloured it crimson. He paused and grinned, wiping it on his lips and smirking coquettishly at Jeno. He playfully licked the wine from his lips, never breaking eye contact with Jeno, then dipped his finger again, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He reached out and touched Jeno’s lips, parting them with his thumb to smear the wine against them. 

“Sure”, Jeno teased, but he was cut off as Renjun leant in to press his lips to the coating of wine, and he fell to pieces against his touch. The kiss tasted like plums and cherry and was slightly acidic on the palette. Jeno managed to tear himself away and press his thumbs lightly to Renjun’s cheekbones. 

“Come on, we’ll miss it if we don’t leave soon.” 

With the warm taste of the wine on his tongue, and Renjun beside him, Jeno braced the cold outside the apartment. They trekked over the railway tracks and brightly lit roads, down dark alleyways and lanes to the bus stop. When they boarded the bus, they climbed up the stairs to the top deck and sat at the front. From out of the window, the streets looked like picturesque paintings, crowds of people gathered on them, and topped with thin layers of white snow that had been trodden and compressed. They’d be far too slippery to drive along, the Beetle would never have held up. 

It had been a while since they’d been back to Primrose Hill, the hill that had once been their only point of intimacy, but there was nowhere better that Jeno wished to spend the rest of nineteen eighty five. For once, the place was heaving with crowds, families and couples in their coats and wellington boots at the edge of the grassy hill. Jeno and Renjun hung back in the shadows of the night, wishing to preserve some semblance of what had made it theirs. The twinkling skyline was more alive in the crisp winter night than they had ever seen it. 

“It’s nearly time”, Jeno said, nodding to the groups of people that had already gathered on some of the benches. _“Nineteen eighty six”_ , he whispered disbelievingly to himself. 

Nineteen eighty five had hardly felt anything more than a dream of strawberry chapstick and sugary lips. Jeno wondered what eighty six would bring for them both. He had lost things, but so had Renjun, but they had found a whole lot more. A whole new part of life that was exciting and new, collected some hopes, and some dreams and love along the way. 

“What do you want from eighty six?”, Jeno asked. Renjun’s head was leant towards his shoulder, but not quite touching it. 

“Something extraordinary.” Renjun’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. 

“Space holidays?” Jeno grinned. 

“Maybe something a little closer to home.” 

“And after that”, Jeno ventured, “eighty seven, eighty eight, eighty nine.” 

Renjun looked up at him, as though suddenly afraid. The snow was falling still, and pieces of it had caught on the ends of his eyelashes, melting away after a few seconds near his hot skin. He sniffed. “I haven’t really thought about it.” 

Jeno had lost count of the time, but the families around them grew more restless, tiptoeing to make sure they wouldn’t miss the spectacle over the skyline. Renjun’s yearning for the unknown was holding him hostage, not knowing what was beyond the city, and the oceans, at the limit of where his life could take him. 

“I want to be with you”, Renjun said from beside him, lowering his head and digging his foot into the snow. “Forever.” 

They had thrown the word about so many times before. _Forever_. But never the forever of their lives together. Tattoos were forever, and dreams, but the future was something else entirely. They were the closest they had ever been to the stars, but forever still felt so far away. It could have been another one of those lines that Renjun uttered with a far off look, it might have been, but he was staring at Jeno. 

“That’s a long time.” 

“I know.” 

“We could get our own place”, Jeno laughed, “a proper place, and we won’t have to rent it. It’ll be even bigger than Donghyuck’s place.” 

“That’d be something.” 

“We could get a cat.” 

“I like cats.” Renjun let out a raspy laugh. 

“One day.” 

It hurt because it was a dream. Jeno wished someone had warned him about the pain that the beauty of a dream brought with it. They talked about the future like it was set in stone. He knew that they both knew better than that. 

“There.” Renjun smiled suddenly, pointing out towards the sky. 

The first firework exploded loudly, lighting the night in a shade of electric blue. Midnight exactly. More followed, hundreds of them rung in the new year, filling the skyline. There was no more time to talk, and there was no more time for nineteen eighty five as it was chased away by the glow and the chime of the bell twelve times as it rang through the city. 

“Nineteen eighty six”, Jeno whispered. 

“Nineteen eighty six.” Renjun leant his head discreetly on Jeno’s shoulder. 

Jeno wished for the world to change, but for his life with Renjun to stay the same. He lost himself in the colourful display of the fireworks, which marked a time that had passed, and opened the world to another year. 

\--

She sat opposite them at the rickety table, Jeno’s reminder of reality. His mother. She had come alone, which Jeno did not mind at all. She had no makeup on, but her face posed a genuine softness. Her shirt was buttoned up tightly, but still seeming to sag off her shoulders like the tiredness in her eyes, the wear and tear of life around them. 

“You’ve done it up nicely.” His mother was smiling but it did not reach her eyes. Glancing down at the table top, she pushed forward the ceramic plate towards Jeno. It was covered in foil, which she pulled off carefully to reveal the pie inside decorated by pastry lattices. “It’s cherry”, she said softly. “I made it for both of you.” 

Renjun came over then, and placed a hand on Jeno’s shoulder, letting go to reach for the plate. “Thank you.” He smiled and carried it to the counter. Then, he slipped silently out of the room. 

Jeno listened as the door clicked shut, leaving him alone with his mother. He tapped his foot nervously on the floor tiles. The air inside the apartment was cold, the heater not yet accustomed to the bitterness of February. 

“Are you happy?”, his mother asked, her voice trembling. 

Jeno nodded, plucking at a strand that had come loose from around the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m happy”, he said. 

“That’s all I needed to know.” Jeno looked up as she dragged her bag up off the floor, taking something from inside it and placing it down on the table. She slid it across towards Jeno. A tattered paper envelope, unsealed. “Your father told me to give you this.” 

Jeno picked it up and peered inside, the wad of cash staring back at him, fresh notes stacked neatly. “Money?” 

“He wanted you to have it.” 

Jeno put the envelope back down on the table. “Couldn’t he have brought it himself?” The money was superficial to Jeno. If his father had known him at all, then he would have known that. “I don’t want his money.” 

“Jeno, I didn’t know he would—” 

“It doesn’t matter now.” 

Jeno wondered if his mother was as lost as he was, seeking comfort. He went to her, placing an arm around her as she pulled him in. Her chin rested on his shoulder and he held her close. She hugged him tightly. She had looked after him for so long, and for once Jeno felt as though he was looking after her. 

“You’re so young”, she whispered, still holding on. 

He thought of himself through the years of his life. He thought of theatre kisses, and dingy clubs, and holding Renjun in their little apartment. It resonated with him, how young he was and how new to love he was. 

\--

They lived out the days through the cold winter, into the spring. Renjun’s back ached from hours tattooing clients, and the apartment was cold at night. Trips all over the city, in Jeno’s car, with Renjun’s mixtape on at full blast, they covered all the places on the city map that they wanted to go. There were finger marks all over it now, from where it had been thumbed on long journeys. There’d been parties, Donghyuck’s parties, and others, and sex, and the late night talks and cigarettes while sat on old broken pub tables outside the apartment. 

There were times when Jeno sensed that Renjun was searching for something more. When he talked about those dreams and all of the places that he had never been to. That his dream was only partly complete. 

Renjun was still in bed. He’d often lay in on Saturday’s. Jeno noticed him as he drifted past the bedroom after a shower, hair still wet and dripping down his shoulder blades and back to the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist. He dropped it and changed into a pair of shorts. 

Curled in on himself on the mattress, the thick sheets covered Renjun and bunched at his waist, his hair splayed out wildly over the pillow from sleep. He was turned onto his side and staring at the wall. 

Jeno shook his head, the freezing water spraying onto his shoulders as he climbed in -beside him. Renjun smiled when he saw him, the sheets crumpling as he pulled them upwards. Jeno pulled them the rest of the way, over both their heads, faces close and noses almost touching. It encased them, trapping the warm air. 

“Hey”, Jeno whispered. 

“Hey yourself.” Renjun smiled and brushed tendrils of wet hair out of Jeno’s eyes, running a finger over the crest of his temple. His eyes were dazed and far away. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Dropping his hand down onto Jeno’s chest, Renjun drew circles into the tattoo. It made Jeno shudder. “Forever.” 

“Forever?” 

“What comes after that?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What’s next?” 

Jeno’s nose bumped against Renjun’s. “Whatever you want.” 

Renjun’s fingers tap danced gracefully over the seagull. Jeno’s hair had dampened the pillowcase and it was cold against his cheek. He shut his eyes. 

“I don’t want to ruin forever by growing up too fast.” 

“You don’t have to grow up yet.” 

“There’s still so much I don’t know. Forever feels grown up.” 

“It is, I suppose.” 

Jeno wondered where the two of them had gone, the two barely grown people that sat on top of the hill, on top of the world and daydreamed, not teenagers but not adults. Renjun’s eyes still burned with the same fire, Jeno could see it this near to his face, but the skin around it was dark and tired looking, like he was faded in some way. 

The sheets skimmed Renjun’s collarbones as he sat up, holding him close in their comfort before falling to a heap of cotton on the mattress. Jeno watched from where he lay, the shadow of Renjun that moved to the window and pulled the curtains back. The light flooded into the room all at once, making Jeno squint, his eyes adjusting to the blinding sun. Jeno could see the slender frame, and the delicate skin, doused with sunlight, kissed by its warmth, his spine running down to the waistband of his boxers. He knew every crevice of it inside and out again from all the times he had explored it. 

Renjun leant up on his tiptoes to push open the window, and the muscles in his back stretched and tightened as he moved, his deltoid flexing and taut, shoulders rolling and sending a wave of movement through the wings of the bird. 

Tossing the sheets off himself, Jeno followed, standing behind Renjun, with the cold from the city air caressing his cheeks. He leant into the touch affectionately, pushing his back against Jeno’s torso, so Jeno bent down and pressed his lips gently to the top of Renjun’s spine. It made him shudder, because his lips were cold against Renjun’s burning hot skin, residual from the warmth of the mattress nest. He could make out the view of grey city streets and pavements of people through the dirty glass. The heart of the city lay further on, blinking lights and tall buildings. There were smudged finger prints on the glass, which Renjun added to as he began to wipe his thumb over it to make the view of the world outside clearer. 

“I can’t help but think about what else is out there.” Renjun’s thumb pressed hard into the glass before it fell away, leaving behind the print over the skyline and the world beyond it. 

His words filled up Jeno’s lungs like smoke, except the air was perfectly clean and breathable. For a moment he felt as confined as Renjun did, by his own love. Renjun’s breath stuttered, but he regained it by pressing his cheek to the underside of Jeno’s jaw, which Jeno ran his fingers lazily over. 

They were so young. He thought of what his mother had said to him, being young, forever felt like it would go on and on, forever was caging Renjun in. Renjun’s back was warm and pliant, moulded into the shape of him, a reminder that he was real, and a note that he was where he was. 

Jeno knew what it was. It was wanderlust. He had known for a long time. He loved Renjun hopelessly, and Renjun loved life hopelessly. All of his dreams had fallen to dust the last time he had tried to live them all. 

Jeno looked around his home, if this was the gutter, then the city was the stars, and Jeno had grown fond of all of its oddities and wonders. Past the stars, lay the entire universe, the rest of the world. 

Renjun looked too, out over the blinkered lights of a city filled with his lost ambition. Merely a terrified little dreamer. 

\--

Jeno knew that loving Renjun was dangerous. Not dangerous in the purest sense of the word, but risky in the way that his heart could be hurt so easily, that Renjun had made it so brittle and unguarded. 

He knew that Renjun’s dreams were big, but sometimes he thought that they were taking him over entirely. In between the days, and the wild nights, and the parties, in the times that it was quiet, Jeno noticed it. He could tell when Renjun was dreaming of something more, he always seemed to know when he was in another world. It was the times when Renjun’s eyes became glassy and looked like they could fill up with tears before he was quick enough to blink them away. It was when his stare was vacant, when they were face to face in bed, and Jeno would kiss all over his cheeks and his forehead to bring him back to reality. 

Renjun was daydreaming again, sat on the floor with his dreams spread out around him on the shabby carpet. Jeno had not seen them for a long time. The photographs of the places distant and far away. He sat down beside him, and Renjun smiled, wincing as he pressed his hand down flat onto the carpet. 

“Cramp?” Jeno crossed his legs. 

Renjun drew his hand back and stretched it, nodding. “I’ve been tattooing all day. A very big back, needed a lot of ink on it.” 

“I thought those belonged in the parlour backroom.” Jeno pointed at one of the photographs, one of a glacier spanning a mountain valley. He remembered where it had hung. 

“These things? I cleared out my desk, thought I’d bring them back.” Renjun swept the photographs up, holding them in one hand and glancing down at the top of the stack. “My little dreams.” 

“Your big dreams.” 

“Stupid aren’t they?” 

“Absolutely ridiculous”, Jeno bluffed weakly, but the ache in Renjun’s eyes was so genuine that he stopped. He pulled the photograph pile out of Renjun’s hand and chuckled softly as he pressed his lips together and frowned. “No, they aren’t.” 

“I was just putting them away”, Renjun said. “I don’t know why I got them out anyway.” 

“I do.” 

“Why’s that then?” 

“Because you’re afraid of forever.” Jeno placed the photograph pile neatly on the carpet, careful not to damage the precious paper pieces. It was almost silent, the only sound creeping in from the outside world, the noise of car engines on the main roads and the low murmur of people on the pavements by the pub. It was quiet enough for Jeno’s thoughts to come out. They were colourful, the thoughts of forever, like the fireworks at New Years, and they were warm like forever should be, for Jeno. But the truth was laid out, and they had stepped around it for long enough. “You’re so afraid of forever.” 

“How did you guess?”, Renjun whispered. 

“It’s obvious, I know you.” 

“This is forever, isn’t it?” Renjun nodded at the cracked walls of the apartment. “All of this. I want forever with you, but you’re right, I am afraid of it. I’m afraid that I’ll fuck it up.” 

“But you want that too?” Jeno picked up a photograph - it showed a deep canyon, bathed in orange hues. This time the paper felt like it was taunting him, with a promise of escape from the mundane. He wondered how he could ever compete with it. “You want to go.” 

“Stop it, Jeno.” Renjun shook his head “I told you, they’re just dreams.” 

“Aren’t they what you want?” 

“I want this.” Renjun dug his heels into the carpet, his dirt covered socks scratching against the worn out fabric. “And I want you.” 

Jeno thought that Renjun was wrong. He wanted the extraordinary, and he wanted the mundane, all at once. He wanted his dreams, but his dreams were abundant, they did not know the limits like the lines of a map. He was a contradiction. He wanted danger, and he wanted safety too, absent but all there. He was fading, and he was burning bright in the centre of his eyes where the fire was, the unextinguishable fire whose flame could only be tamed if its desires were met, all of that yearning. Renjun’s dreams didn’t care much for Jeno, not the way that Renjun did for him. He wanted the world, the gutter and the stars, wanted to be everything at once, and it was tearing him apart. 

“And you want your dreams too.” 

“They’re still there, growing and growing because my mind tells me I’ve not been alive enough. Because I’ve always had someone there, and I’ve never taken risks. I don’t know what that’s like, I want to know, and it scares me.” 

Jeno shook his head. “You’re self-destructive.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re never happy with what you have. You want everything at once.” 

“I _am_ happy. I’m _so, so_ fucking happy.” 

Jeno bit his lip to suppress the bitter ache in the corner of his eyes, the watery tears that wanted so desperately to fall yet wouldn’t out of sheer pride. He dared to glance at Renjun, who was staring down at the carpet. 

“Is this what you always do?”, he snapped hot headedly, “you get something you want and then you throw it away for something else? Picking people up and dropping them again.” 

“Is that really what you think?”, Renjun asked quietly. 

Jeno’s shoulders sank. “No, it isn’t.” 

“I’ve always been afraid of forever, but I’ve never wanted it more than I have with you.” 

Jeno knew that he could not blame Renjun for having dreams, for wanting more. He did not think that anyone could be blamed, it was innate, to want what one did not have, and to know what was not known. Even the guys in the garage had dreams, and in a way they were just as grand as the ones that Renjun had. And it was innate to fear eternity, like he had feared the forever of a tattoo. 

Renjun had been trapped before. He’d had to grow up once before and he had withdrawn. He had been in immature love, and he had been in grown up love. They had tried to grow up with it, but at heart they were both still kids. Perhaps they did not need to grow up as fast as they had thought. 

Jeno wanted to be stronger, but he knew he would always take Renjun into his arms. Even later, when Renjun’s body was pressed to his, he still felt like he was slipping away, crumbling like the tattered apartment walls. Renjun belonged to nobody, he would not give up his heart, except in those rare seconds that he gave himself to Jeno. He was so near, close but far away, all the same contradictions that came with loving him. From the way that Renjun lay spread out on the bed, he looked like he was surrendering, the street lights shining over him through the window, London glowing pearly white on the inside of his thigh and over his naval. He took in every touch, tender and rough, afraid that it would be gone by morning. 

Renjun rested his forehead on Jeno’s collarbone so thoughtlessly, against the place where he had inked a piece of himself. He breathed over the bone softly, leaving a little more of himself there with every pant and kiss delivered to the skin for him to keep. Jeno wanted to believe in every breath. 

He laid awake afterwards. Watching Renjun sleep, there was a sheen of sweat that had not dried yet, left glistening upon his forehead. Jeno brushed away the hair stuck to it with a single finger, filled with the urge to hold him close again. Renjun’s eyes were unlike the rest of him, so alive, but now that they were closed, and he was asleep, he seemed to have let down his guard. His face was dull and pallid, ashen. There was something inexplicably vulnerable about him, woven into his expression and his hollow cheekbones. 

The book lay on the table beside the bed, the one that Renjun could read over and over, purple cover like a looming figure. Jeno thought about picking it up and opening it to its first flimsy page. 

He turned over instead, chasing the sleep that wouldn’t come to him. 

\--

He caved in three days later, at the same time of night, when again sleep was not on the cards, and his thoughts were gnawing at him, when he felt entirely alone despite the hot body of Renjun beside him. 

The first page of the book fell open easily, and Jeno’s stomach twisted in panic. It was illustrated with pictures of the bird. He began to read, aided by the foggy streetlights. He had never been captivated much by books, but it stayed in his sticky palms until dawn broke through the pink filtered sky. The story was simple, in a way, the seagull wanted to fly the highest, higher than all the other gulls, bored of the limitations of land. It needed freedom to be its true self, to be better, and to reach its own version of perfection. 

Renjun stirred in the bed beside him, turning over onto his side, lips parted softly. He was much like the seagull on his collarbone, and the one in the book, sometimes, the one he had wanted to be when he was a child. Jeno wondered if it was the inspiration for all of his dreams. The feathered wings he had imagined on Renjun’s shoulder blades, and the wings of the bird that really did span his back. He wanted to learn a lot and live a lot. The discovery, and the aspiration, the climb to a perfect existence. He was like the bird, the broken bird that wanted to fly, a caged creature, with bold promises of forever when he didn’t even know what the next day held. 

For a second he felt at peace with the bird on the paper, and the one inked on his collarbone. It was a part of both of them. The seagull was inked on Jeno as a reminder of his love, and it lived inside of Renjun, there to destroy him unless it got what it wanted, two polar opposite existences. 

Perhaps if he were to hold on tighter to Renjun, then he would stay. It was instinctive, to hold onto what was loved, but loving someone too much, a bird with fragile wings, holding on could crush it and kill it. But he was afraid to let go. 

Thumbing the pages after he had reached the last one, Jeno watched as the illustrations came together, blurring as each picture passed quickly. The image of the seagull was on every page, getting closer and closer to the sun, faster and faster as he flicked the pages rapidly so it seemed the bird was flying across the book from one side to the other. When it stopped on the last page, its shadow was right over the sun. 

He was afraid that Renjun would resent him, and his dreams too, if he stayed as he was, with the thirst for more, and then he would end up with nothing. 

\--

Jeno found it difficult to concentrate. The four corners of the car’s chassis felt like they were shutting him into its shadow. He twisted the wrench, tightening its grip around the pipe as he tugged at it. It did not budge, and he sighed at his failed attempt, discarding the metal object on the dirty ground. 

Hot spring and sticky sweat filled his mind, and Renjun too. Not in the way that he used to, not the forbidden feelings, or the slowly growing affection. They were more mature, and they ached a lot more of desperate love, watching as he drifted away. The weeks of conversations of forever, and never. The handfuls of contradictions. He did not want Renjun to wither completely. 

They had walked together that morning, from the apartment to the roads that they were so familiar with, a step too far into the mundane. The garage came first, and Renjun went the rest of the way alone to the tattoo parlour. Even then, he had sensed Renjun was holding something back. He had been quiet, in a dream probably, of course, subdued and distant. He seemed preoccupied with thoughts other than London backstreets. When Jeno had asked him if he was okay, Renjun had simply nodded and brushed his finger silently against Jeno’s hand, to offer some reassurance. This time Jeno could not bring himself to believe him. The same thoughts that plagued him at night had arisen. 

Jeno reached for the wrench in the dark space, snapping the frustration away with another brutal push in an outlet for his anger. _He did not want to let go._

The day distracted him, spare tyres and the burning sun, the simpler parts of life and the simpler thoughts. In the evening there was nothing to distract him. Renjun sat crossed legged on the make shift couch, as usual, a book balanced in his lap. Occasionally he paused to turn a page, or to glance at the fading sun, still subdued, and slow moving. He gripped the book hard though, his cheeks unusually pale and eyes forlorn where his fire should have been. 

Jeno was unsure what had compelled his movements because he had thought that he would feel anger rising in his unsettled mind, but in the end all he felt was pity. Pity for the dreamer. It came over him all at once, the surge of adrenalin that pushed him towards Renjun. He sat on the throw, making a dip in the worn out thread and wrapping his arms gently around Renjun’s waist from behind. He was greeted by the warm smell of cloves as he rested his cheek onto Renjun’s shirt, close to where an earring shimmered on his tragus. Renjun was tense for a moment, becoming lax and dropping the book. 

“What are you doing?”, Renjun laughed, tilting his head back. His breath fanned Jeno’s cheek. 

“I was thinking.” It wasn’t a new thought, it had grown and grown, somewhere in the depths of Jeno’s subconscious, until it had been on his mind without him being aware of it. Somewhere he had known for a while that it would come to this. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t hold on too tight to Renjun, but now that he could, he wondered how it were possible to be holding onto something so tightly that he was about to let go of. He inhaled. 

“You’ve never wanted forever more than this, right?” 

Renjun nodded his head slowly but did not turn. Jeno was glad, it seemed like they both knew that facing each other would hurt too much. If he looked at Renjun’s face he knew he would never say the words. He stared at the whisps of hair that stuck up from his nape instead. 

“Then go”, he said. 

Renjun turned his head sharply half way. “What?” 

“Go”, Jeno repeated. “Go to all those places in the photographs that you want to go to”, he could feel a lump in his throat, “and come back at the end of it, if you still want this forever.” 

“Jeno—” 

“Isn’t that what you want?” 

There was a moment of silence, and then Renjun turned quickly, his fingers gripping Jeno’s shirt, eyes flaming the way that Jeno always loved. _“Come with me”_ , he whispered, and pressed his warm forehead to Jeno’s. Jeno shut his eyes. 

“And leave everything here behind?” Jeno’s head drooped. Renjun said nothing. “You told me that you saved up for it?” 

“I saved up for years.” Renjun let go of Jeno’s shirt. 

“How many people did you save for?” 

Renjun hesitated. “One”, he said. “But I’m qualified now, I could work my way around.” He looked up at Jeno desperately. “You could too.” 

“It’s your dream”, Jeno said quietly. 

“Are you saying, no?” 

“I’m saying go.” 

“You _want_ me to go?” Renjun’s eyes were the same kind of glassy now, and misted over, but not in a way that made him seem distant and lost. He searched Jeno’s face, his eyes flickering to focus, the water pooling inside them, water fighting the fire. 

“I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me. Even if that’s selfish”, Jeno said truthfully, and his voice cracked as he tried to smile. _“Why would I want you to go?_ But if it’s what you want, then go”, he managed. 

“What would you do if I went?” 

“The same things I always do.” Jeno felt himself inside the fire of Renjun’s eyes, inside of his dreams, at the centre of the flame. Renjun’s lip was downturned, and he shook his head, like he couldn’t bear to listen. “I’ll just miss you more.” 

“The apartment”, Renjun started, hesitating, “and the cat.” 

Jeno laughed weakly. “They can wait.” 

Renjun reached for Jeno’s face finally and put his head onto his shoulder. “What do I do?”, he murmured, a thumb beside Jeno’s jaw, as if to say, _I don’t want to hurt you_ , like he was trying to hold onto his life here and push away his dreams. The touch resonated as an ache in Jeno’s throat, and a falling tear that Renjun caught swiftly with his thumb. He swiped it away, like an offering of closeness before he would disappear. 

\--

Renjun left at the end of spring. When summer had laid down its promises, the warmth and leaves on the trees, the days longer and lighter. The weeks that had led up to it seemed to have vanished, quicker than Jeno would have liked them to. 

Forever was not on their minds, growing up was. Renjun had no plan, no days to count, except a few rough notes he had scribbled into an old notebook, outlines for the summer of his own life. He had bought Renjun a Walkman and left his cassette inside it. The tape that they always played down empty main roads, the songs of their love story, for long journeys, Renjun’s longest journey yet. Jeno hoped it would be enough for Renjun to come back. 

Jeno still wanted to hold Renjun close while he could, right up until the night before he would leave, when his backpack sat by the door, a reminder of the next day. He remembered how connected their bodies had become, a coda, and a cacophony of gasps as Renjun’s body made its imprint on the mattress as he poured all of the anger and the fear, and the unfairness of life into his grip on Jeno’s shoulder blades. Jeno poured his into the press of his palms to Renjun’s hair. That way he did not have to think about the next day, all he saw was Renjun, and the need to take in every detail of his face, to memorise the places he’d become accustomed to, soft skin and inked tattoos instead of sleep. 

Afterwards, Renjun had pulled down the front of Jeno’s shirt, more tentatively, and more tenderly than any other action of the night. He had touched the skin, hot and sweaty still, the glistening tattoo on Jeno’s collarbone, and Jeno was reminded of that piece of forever, the art in Renjun fingertips, the forever they could inscribe. They trembled as they moved along the bone, then over the wings and the blue tinges, as if saying, _here’s a piece of me_ , that he was not really going. 

“I’m scared”, he whispered against it, chanting. He had breathed over the skin, letting the words linger there. 

“I’m scared too”, Jeno had admitted – scared of not knowing, scared of letting go, scared of being alone while Renjun was seeing the world. 

Still, the morning had come, and Renjun had a train to catch. Off to Paris, the city of love, alone but full of life. The Walkman that Jeno had gifted him sat in his pocket, shiny like Renjun’s lips were the very first time that Jeno had met him. With his tatty leather jacket, and his torn black jeans, he looked like a bird about to fly for the first time. Jeno could imagine it just like the first time they had met. 

“I understand”, Renjun said nervously, and tiptoed to press his lips to Jeno’s briefly, “if you don’t want to wait.” 

Jeno just shook his head. “See you soon, spaceman”, he grinned. “Tell me what the stars are like.” 

\--

Sometimes, Jeno wished the snow would fall like ash again, the way that it had done in winter. Echoes of the days idly lying beside the window panes watching the snow cluster. 

It was odd, how Jeno missed all of the little things about Renjun. He was made up of a million shattered pieces, perfectly held together, and Jeno missed them all. Pencil strokes, and ink. Strawberries, and sunsets, and stained ashtrays and concrete walls. He supposed it was part of feeling so alive, it came with every spectrum of emotion. The chapstick he had left behind on the table beside the bed smelled sweet and reminded him of glossy lips pressed to his. He wished to see the flames in Renjun’s eyes, even if he had been so burnt by them, the flames of youth that did not give in to forever. He wished for a glimpse, or he was afraid he would forget what it was like to look at Renjun’s face. 

It was dry, and hot on every street in London. The pace of life seemed to resume, all his day time hours in the garage. He’d decided to throw himself into it, he needed the money that extra hours brought. The money covered the rent, Renjun had left some behind too, enough for a few months. 

The first postcard home arrived, letters to Jeno. They filled up the room like an exhibit in a museum, memoirs of what could look like a lifetime in written words, cascading on the walls, stuck with tape, a bittersweet reminder of the adventures that were not his. They made the drab apartment seem like the world was in one room. Jeno only cared that they were from Renjun. Renjun never seemed to stay in one place for very long, the postcards and the letters came from different countries, and different cities, stamped in the corner of the paper. 

Renjun was in Italy. That’s what the latest letter had said. Jeno’s chest had tightened when he had seen it lying on the floor beside the door, the apartment address, and Jeno’s name written in Renjun’s scribbly handwriting. He had torn it open but held the pages of the letter gently. The calligraphy swirled in long lines of writing, it detailed Renjun’s stay in a hostel in the heart of Venice and walks through ancient palace grounds. On the second page there was a sketch of a gondola floating on a canal. Taped to the top of the paper loosely, was a pressed flower, a little bluebell with flattened petals. Above it, Renjun had written the words, _amore mio._

It fell as Jeno touched it, tumbling onto the dusty tabletop. He had been bold enough to let Renjun slip away, but he was not bold enough to say that he did not miss him. He hoped that Renjun missed him too, amongst the dreams. The room full of letters reassured him. His chest ached. Loving Renjun was cruel, it always had been. He thought often, that letting him go had been the kinder of two cruelties, to let go for him to come back, the risk that he had taken. But sometimes, it tore him apart and spat him out again as he held onto the hope of a forever one day. 

He set the flower on the sill of the window, counting the days since he had become a fool in love. He pulled the curtains shut. Afterwards he flicked on a record and lay in the dark, with his eyes shut, as he had done with Renjun. It was beautifully melancholic. 

\--

“Where is he now?” 

“He’s sipping his own tea in Vienna.” 

Donghyuck laughed faintly, “Is he now?” He exhaled out into the cool August evening. The balcony of his house was quiet. In fact, Jeno had found the whole house rather lifeless without parties and strangers’ faces breathed into it. A change from the alcohol, and the lavishness. It had started to rain more often in the evenings than it had done at the start of summer and the days in mid-July. The air out on the balcony was not restricting like the air inside Donghyuck’s house. They still met up, for the parties, or for whatever, Donghyuck felt like a piece of himself that Renjun had left behind. 

“When did you last hear from him?” 

“Two weeks ago. He sends postcards.” 

Donghyuck’s hand slipped from the table. “How romantic of him.” 

Picking up his own porcelain tea cup, Donghyuck smiled, almost sadly. His hair was flattened and dishevelled, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He was drinking spicy tea, the aroma of chai floating through the air as he brought it to his lips. The sun glowed gold on his cheeks, trails of the evening sunset. Gold like the rest of Donghyuck’s life. Jeno hummed, his hands skimming the table as he rested them on top. 

Donghyuck frowned, like he could sense the tension. “He was trapped before. I think. Here.” 

“I know.” 

“He’s a dreamer.” 

“I know.” 

Donghyuck sipped from the tea, swallowing the last drops and placing it down gently. Jeno looked out to the gardens, his head slumped against his shoulder. Everything was the same in the static evening, London’s lights twinkling like they always did, in the distance. 

“I’ll miss him”, Donghyuck said. 

Jeno didn’t turn, his cheek instead pressing deeper into the soft leather jacket covering his shoulders. “He’s coming back.” 

“Then”, Donghyuck began, pausing, “then he’s just, preparing the rest of his life”, he said unconvincingly, glancing at the floor. 

“Yeah, I suppose he is.” 

That evening after he had left Donghyuck’s, he drove to Primrose Hill and watched the sun fade. It was empty, where it had once belonged to him and Renjun, so he shouted to the sky and the plethora of stars in it. They made him feel insignificant. He shouted to the dreamer that could not hear him, until his lungs ached. The stars glared back at him. He knew he was a fool because he would always wait. He did not let himself cry. Instead he touched the tattoo on his skin and clung to the hope settled in his chest. 

\--

The days of October felt lonelier. The dry air was bitter and unforgiving. It reminded Jeno of how long it had been. A whole summer had gone with the wake of days without Renjun. Only the calls from pay phones late at night when the streets were empty and the postcards, and the letters. There was hardly any room left for them on the four walls of the lounge. They came in bursts, sometimes a lot at once, and sometimes weeks without a word. 

They had begun to taunt Jeno, full of his own fading hope, and someone else’s dreams written in cursive letters. He often tried to place them to the face that had written them out with such care, wondering whether the wrists had been warmed by leather as he inked the words like a tattoo onto the paper. He wondered if his lips were still painted with strawberries, or if he had bitten down on the bottom one as he wrote. It made him afraid that his mind could not quite piece the picture together in his head, only splinters. 

The unopened letter sat on top of the table. Jeno had ignored it since it had arrived through the rusty letterbox that morning. The room was dark like the night that poured through the open window, and the lamp light cast over the walls, making the pages of the letters glow, looking as though they could melt as easily as candle wax. Sometimes he wished that they would. 

Walking slowly to the table, he picked up the thin papers and unfolded them. 

_Dear Jen,_

_I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. I’m sorry. I hope that you’re still receiving these letters._

_I made it to Tokyo safely, I’ll be here for three weeks. At the time of writing this letter, I haven’t seen a lot of the city, but I’m sure by the time it reaches you, the jet leg will have gone away, and maybe I’ll have explored some more. I’ll let you know what it’s like, maybe one day, we could visit it._

_I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’ve had a lot of time to, even though life doesn’t stop moving, sometimes, here, when there’s no one to talk to, or to know, I get a lot of time for thoughts. I’ve found myself with a lot of time to reflect on my life, and what I think it means. I think about all the time that we spent together, and the things at home I never thought that I’d miss, and all the things that I knew that I would. It feels like so long since I’ve seen your face. I miss you. Lee Jeno, my Lee Jeno. For all the thinking that I’ve been doing, I’m sorry that I couldn’t have put that into better words._

_I think about what led me here. It was you. I wouldn’t be here if it were not for you. I suppose that this letter is a thank you, a thank you for-_

Jeno stopped reading. He gripped the paper tightly, trying to stop his eyes from prickling sorely. Anger mixed with hot welling tears. Anger at himself, and at Renjun, and at the world. The kind of tears that could be felt in the throat and tasted of salt as he shut his eyes. They rose upwards, the warm feeling, burning him from the inside out like vitriol and making him feel sick. It matched the smell of rancid tobacco from the pub under the apartment. It made his skin crawl. The hollow voices from the streets too. Jeno paid them no heed. Silent tears, no wailing, and no howling, the most painful kind. The letter crumpled between his fingers. 

He tore it up. All of the words that Renjun had written with precision. They became tiny pieces, fragments of a whole and flung about the room. They danced for a moment before becoming lifeless and scattering. He did not have the heart to destroy the other letters, all the words on the walls. One was enough. The fragile paper pieces made him cry harder, in his house of cards, the walls of paper letters, like destroying the letter would send the whole apartment crumbling to ash. 

He sat for a long time, on the bed that made do as a couch in the lounge. Where he had held Renjun close and listened to his dreams. The tears came then, and he scrabbled on the floor, picking the pieces up and laying them out on the table carefully, but still it didn’t look quite right. He left the pieces there, walking to sit beside the window sill, where the pressed bluebell lay. There was no point in crushing it, it was already dead. He wanted to hold it close. He contemplated lighting up a cigarette, but he knew it would clog up his throat and taste bitter and unpleasant. He had hardly touched them anyway. Instead, he lit it and watched the useless smoke float upwards as tears dribbled slowly down his cheeks. He waited until it burnt right down to the filter. Pointless. Like everything else. He crushed it against the ashtray, seeing himself in the cinders left behind. 

He grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the wall. The glass hit the plaster and smashed into pieces. His anger drained to sadness. 

What was he was waiting for? There was no address to send a letter back to. He had lost sight of forever and all he could see now was the next postcard. 

\--

Jeno ambled past the letters still stuck on the lounge wall and into the kitchen to see who was knocking on his door. The snow was falling heavily again. He smiled wryly at the way it clung to the frosted window, obscuring the view outside, a twisted smile that took him back to another time. Jeno wondered who would be out in a chill like that, been foolish enough to stand out in it. There was only one person that he knew who was as foolish as he was, sought such a bitter thrill. 

He turned the handle of the door. 

_Two hundred and three days. Thirty letters opened._

Snowflakes had settled in his hair and fallen in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He was standing on the doorstep, leather jacket pulled tight around him and backpack clinging to his shoulders. His hair was shorter than it had been when he left, swept out of his face, and his lips were chapped and bitten. Tired eyes, perhaps from the plane journey, but underneath that, full of the fire that had been missing. 

Jeno did not say anything immediately, because he was sure it could not have been real, he had dreamed up the scenario so often that it almost didn’t feel unusual to him. But it was like looking at a stranger, the Renjun in front of him, different but the same. Or maybe it had just been too long since he had seen his face. 

“You cut your hair”, Jeno managed, voice barely audible as he kept his eyes on Renjun. 

Renjun parted his lips, eyes wet and watery. “Can I come in?” 

Jeno moved backwards. He had been angry, but this close to what had hurt him, he felt it melt away slowly. Renjun stepped inside, dropping his bag to the floor and pushing shut the door behind him. He walked through into the lounge, looked around at the walls, every inch that was covered in his own words, letters of his life, the postcards that Jeno had left taped up, waxy words and glossy paper, and the writer watching them. His documented dreams, he stopped to stare at Jeno and the world he had created in the room. He gave a single, tentative, restrained touch to one of the papers. 

Time moved again as Renjun ran across the room to him. The initial shock that Jeno felt as arms were thrown around his shoulders made him trip backwards, but he had Renjun to hold onto. Renjun clung to him, like it was the first time ever, like he did not want to let go, like it would mend Jeno’s broken heart. Renjun fell back into his arms like no time had passed at all. 

“Jeno”, he breathed into Jeno’s hair and then against his lips. A gentle press of lips that was hesitant and tasted like salty tears. 

It was by no means perfect, but Renjun had seen the world and come back to Jeno. He was always trying to fly away, and he was inconsistent, a burning cigarette, and glowing embers, all tangled and torn up as he wrote out his love letters and sent them to Jeno. The millions of pieces of himself drawn out on paper like a map. 

With the same warmth, and imprints on the mattress, they found each other again. All the days they had been apart. Jeno was sure he could fall in love all over again. Tattoo tracing and rough fingers made everything familiar. Twisted sheets and bare bodies, the feeling of skin on skin. He’d forgotten what the taste of strawberries and cigarettes was like on his tongue. Jeno saw the dreams in Renjun’s eyes and he wanted them too. 

In the morning, Jeno would ask Renjun if there would be tomorrows, and maybe Renjun would give him an answer. He’d do a lot in the morning, he’d ask Renjun about where he had been, listen to all of it. Maybe next time he’d go too, out to the stars that Renjun had seen and come back to Jeno from. Maybe they’d go somewhere, be a little less hopeless, be swept away into the world with the autumn leaves as they passed to winter. Maybe this time, there would be time for I love you’s. If Renjun stayed, it would not be out of boredom, or pity, it would be because he wanted to, no other reason. 

Perhaps it would be forever, but Jeno thought that they did not need grand promises of forever when they had dreams to tide them over instead. 

For now, they lay in the gutter and looked up at the stars shining over them through the dirty apartment windows. Renjun lay next to him on the mattress, a handful of his dreams filling his head. 

Jeno’s lay right beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional author's note coming up--
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic if you did! It's truly become close to my heart despite being the trickiest to write yet. It's helped me through a lot over the last five months that it has been in progress and I'm really happy that I could finally share it as a little christmas gift!! 
> 
> Thank you again to my prompter! Whoever you are I would love to find you and thank you!  
> The prompt that allowed this fic to be born was: _'Person A has been wanting to get a tattoo for ages now, so he comes and goes to this tattoo parlour only to back out at the last minute. Because of this, he meets person B, or maybe, the reason why person A keeps coming back is because of person B- Person B designs person A tattoo.'_
> 
> Thank you also to my lovely friends that kept me going through the process of writing this fic (BAT SCORE i love you all!!) 
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts and kudos and comments are always appreciated immensely!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> twitter: renjunfairydust  
> cc:[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/renjunfairydust)


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